


The Alpha King and The Highland Prince

by DesiSky



Series: Entwined In And Out Of Time [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Attempted Murder, Captivity, Casual Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hostage Stiles Stilinski, Kings & Queens, Lots of Stuff, M/M, Murder, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Stuff, Violence, Werewolf Hunters, Werewolf Politics, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, as they all come to me I update the tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2017-12-23 15:00:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 72,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/927869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesiSky/pseuds/DesiSky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek was a hardened warrior prince living for others expectations. Stiles was a free spirited prince who was loved for it. their lives smash together when their lands go to war. Now that Stiles is prisoner of his enemy the now Alpha King of England, both he and Derek must reconcile their anger and sense of duty with their creeping infatuation with the man they should hate the most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Worlds Apart, Then Collide

**Author's Note:**

> This story kept whispering in the back of my head so i decided to write it like it kept begging me too. I hope you enjoy this one as I write it, I think it will be a nice new lil something.

**_~1603~_ **

“Where is my husband!” the queen screamed, her voice echoing with the pain filling her body.

“I am sorry your grace. We received word this morning that he is returning from the battle, victorious but he will not be likely to make it in time.” Emily’s words were hurried as she rushed back to the queen’s side. She felt for her, the pains of child birth were difficult enough, even for wolf-kind, without having some kind of family support and absent any siblings, save her brother in law Peter, Talia had no one. The woman was strong nonetheless. She held her head high and pushed aside the pain so that she commanded a calm unlike any her ladies in waiting had ever seen.

*

*

Everyone at court knew her story and respected her for it. She was young, a girl barely blossoming into womanhood when the alpha-king had set his eyes on her. She had come to court after her father had been killed in another war the king had started and finished victoriously, as was his reputation. Talia Cornwall had inherited the title Countess of Brighton when her mother had passed away leaving her orphaned at 17. She became a ward of her father’s closest friend, a man she had called uncle, Lord Bishop, Earl of Guildford. The man served at court as a member of the King’s Privy Council and so his family had resided there for some time when he couldn’t part with his wife and she couldn’t stay without her children.

The king of England and Grand Alpha of England’s wolf-kind, William Hale the second, had watched her silently and from a distance at first. He took the time to survey his prey, noting her elegance and grace, the way she seemed to know so much even at such a young age. He watched her impress the ladies at court with her style and pride in all things while stunning the men with her beauty and spirit. Many had made advances but all were turned away as she had no interest in boys. She had always known that her husband would command her attention and respect, rather than attempt at teasing and flirting for her affections.

So over time the king had approached her, their first meeting on the dance floor when he’d joined in the celebrations after another of his many victories. He’d taken her hand before another could claim it and kept her his partner the entire night. He hadn’t spoken a word, just watched her, silently, steadily and ever so hungrily. Talia had known then, even as she’d given him a decent run for his money, that he was the one.

William had tried to bed her when he’d known certainly that she wanted him in return but she refused claiming she wouldn’t be a king’s whore. Her words had stirred nothing in him, he had already decided he would marry and mate her. A true mate coupling was often considered rare but there was no other the alpha-king had ever thought of after Talia had crossed his path. So he took her for himself and the realm had respected and praised their union. All the ladies aspired to be like Talia Hale nee Cornwall and all the men respected the king’s queen and alpha mate while secretly desiring knowledge of what a life with her might be like. Needless to say there was never a day when the king regretted his decision.

*

*

“That man…” she stopped wincing as she changed her position slightly in the birthing stool. “That man has always favored a battle it should not surprise me so, that it is what keeps him from his son’s birth.”

“I’m sure he would be here had he known the child would come so soon…”

“Even then Emily…” she groaned, “…even then that man would still be on some battlefield slicing through soldiers rather than holding his mate’s hand in the most…. Ahhhhhh!” she screamed as she felt the head of her baby pushing against her widening entrance.

“It’s time your grace, you must push.”

The queen screamed as she did so, her body clenching as she forced herself to expel the little one she’d kept safely inside her womb for eight months and a few days.

“That’s good my queen another,” Emily coaxed holding the woman’s hand a moment before returning to the child coming from between her legs. The queen pushed again her roar of pain and endurance an echo once more throughout the upper halls of the castle.

“One more my lady, one more, you can do this.”

She pushed a final time and felt the instantaneous relief when the child left her body completely and was caught in the arms of her first lady Emily. One of the others cut the cord and Emily stood laughing as she brought the newborn forth. “A boy my queen, it’s a boy.” Talia’s face lit up, glowing with more than just reflected light off the sheen of sweat covering her, but with her joy at having birthed a son.

“A little prince,” she cooed as she opened her arms to receive him. “My little prince Derek. Your father will be so pleased to meet you.” She cradled the boy in her arms and listened to his welcome wailing as she stared into his blinking hazel eyes, so large and round and bright. He was perfect, not a hair out of place even having come early.

“Talia!” she heard the shout of a voice heaving with having run a great distance. Her lord husband, the King come to his wife from battle, to be greeted with the sight of his heir, his prince in her arms.

“William, you’ve returned. They said you wouldn’t make it.”

“They were wrong, nothing would keep me from this,” he huffed.

“My love, it’s a boy,”

“How can I love you more woman? For you’ve given me all a man could hope for, love and laughter and an heir to carry on when I am dust. Let me look at him.” William took his boy into his arms and raised him up. He smiled approvingly before kissing his son’s cheek. “A fine prince you are and a fine king you’ll be.”

****

**_~1610~_ **

Edinburgh Castle was lit up with shouts of praise and joyous singing in anticipation of the birth of the Scottish heir. The queen Claudia had gone into labor three weeks after going into confinement. The king had commenced celebrations just the day before and left them to be at her side for the duration of her labor. Grand Alpha-King John had refused to be ordered away from his wife’s birthing bed as she gave birth to their son, or at least he’d hoped it was a son. Though nothing would have pleased him more than to see his child, boy or girl brought safely into the world but the monarch and male in him, the king in him held a special hope that the child would be male. A male who could take the throne and continue his line.

“What if he does not take to this world,” Claudia worried to her husband as he held her from behind, holding her shoulders so she could feel him there.

“Ach Claudia he is my son he will be fine. Fine, strong and perfect. Leave your worries to God he will see our boy to us safely.” The king was unwavering in his belief that all would be well. His sureness gave his wife the courage and strength to continue on. He tended to have that effect on her continuously reminding her he was definitely her other half. King John Stilinski had always been a kind and loving man in all things. He had loved his people and earned their respect through his strength and love rather than through fear like a few of his predecessors.

The Scottish people had hailed the king and queen as the truest of true of all Scottish monarchs and would give their lives for either of them at a moment’s notice. The joy of the royal family was the joy of the common people and so when the queen had become pregnant they rejoiced, as much as they did now that she was birthing the future of Scotland.

“The child will be here soon, you must push my queen,” one of her ladies said clearly, with surety and conviction.

“Push Dia,” John whispered calling her the pet name he’d used so many times. She complied, pushing as hard as she could. The cry of pain that ripped from her throat wrenched John’s heart but he held her steady, remaining her rock.

“Again your grace, again.” Claudia pushed and immediately felt a strange pain overcome her, unlike what she’d felt before. She screamed as her body seemed to fight her to reclaim the child.

“Stop stop your grace stop pushing!”

“Adelaide what’s happening?” the king asked as a hint of fear crept into him.

“The child’s shoulder is caught against the wall of the queen’s passage, if she pushes he could break his arm and tear her walls. We must turn him.” The woman spoke solemnly and truthful, sparing no detail. The king had treated her as family all her life and she respected and loved him.

“Then do so quickly,” he said but she didn’t move, giving him a worried look.

“It will be painful my lord, extremely so.” His face immediately mirrored Adelaide’s before he turned down to face his panting and huffing wife. Her face was a mess of sweat and spittle as she tried to hold on.

“I am with you in this thing, I am here, use me, hold me and let us get our son out into the world so he can nurse at your breast and smile at your beautiful face, the way I do,” he winked as he placed his hands in hers and nodded. He mimicked the breathing pattern to remind her to do so and when she final found a breath that almost gave respite from the endless pain she nodded. The king turned to Adelaide and gestured with his head for her to proceed.

When the queen cried out John thought she would die. The pain in her voice was unlike anything he’d ever heard in all his years even as a warrior in the heat of battle. No man had ever screamed out a cry as terrifying as that. Her eye’s flashed golden as she reached for her wolf allowing the supernatural strength to aid her. It seemed like forever before Adelaide pulled her hand from between the Queen’s legs, slick with fluids and blood. She huffed out a breath and urged the queen to push once more, Just one large push.

Claudia did so and the cries came almost immediately. Their son was free and healthy and she laughed when she heard it. Once the cord was cut Adelaide brought the child forth to his parents, presenting him eagerly after smiling down at his face. The king took the babe and placed him in his mother’s arms and the crying ceased immediately. Claudia smiled at the boy and looked up to her husband who smiled as well. There was a soft shriek from the Queen’s arms and the baby began to giggle so much so his body vibrated with it.

“John he laughs, he’s laughing my love what a miracle you are my boy, my precious boy.”

“A miracle indeed. Adelaide look upon the miracle my wife has given us. Prince Germin Stilinski future king of Scotland.”

Once news had reached the outside the celebrations roared to a fever pitch as people danced and sang, lifting their voices to give praises for their blessing.

**_~1616~_ **

Metal smacked hard against metal as they sparred, master and student. King William had insisted his son be trained by the best there ever was, who he admitted, only privately, wasn’t himself. Sir Alan Deaton, the commander of the King’s army was the most excellent swordsman in all of England. There was not a man who could best him when he held his blade and the king had hoped his friend Sir Alan would train his son to be quite the same if not better.

“I can feel the weakness of your stance when my steel collides with yours. Spread your legs, one further away from the other giving you a strong foundation and bind your arm to that sword boy.”

“I’m trying,” Derek articulated. He was only thirteen but he was tall for his age and his body had begun filling in early giving him an air of manliness.

“Try harder my prince, in battle there are no take-backs or do-overs. Your first chance is your last chance.” Derek nodded his understanding. “Now let your hand mold to the hilt of that sword and allow it to move as though it were part of you, an extension so that your reflexes are the sword’s reflexes.” Before Derek had a chance to nod again, Alan was coming at him, charging with an elongated arm, stabbing his steel toward Derek’s middle. Immediately the boy parried his hand swinging around, counter clockwise so that his sword swatted the knight’s away. He smiled at his own progress but immediately the knight retaliated, swirling about and bringing the sword with him so that its flat edge smacked Derek’s upper back and sent him toppling over thanks to his weak stance.

Alan walked toward him before standing there, towering over the boy, his face serious as his hand stretched down to offer the prince aid in rising. Derek turned over and pulled himself up before assuming an adjusted stance making sure his legs were far enough apart that he wouldn’t repeat his previous mistake and find himself flat on his face. Alan gave him a brief smile of acknowledgement and encouragement before resuming his impeccable mask of impassivity and attacking once more.

**_~1622~_ **

King John and queen Claudia walked together, hand in hand along the ramparts, their eyes down at the ground near the side of the great castle, where they could see Germin and his teachers. The prince had taken to a nickname over the years so that all the court referred to him commonly as prince Stiles. John had tried to hold off on Stiles’ ambition but the young lad at his tender age had begged for his father to begin his training with a blade.

As soft as he was on the inside when it came to his boy the king could not deny him. He had hailed a few of the swordsmen of his guard, the ones he trusted above all else and petitioned them to be the prince’s teachers. Of course the men had happily agreed, few of the members of court even knew how to say no to the prince and the only ones who did tended to have good reason for taking such action. Like the cook for example who had to deny Stiles late night sweets as she had insisted he would wake on the morrow with one less tooth in his mouth each day until there were none at all.

The king’s smile was always present when he regarded his son, and especially now when the boy had basically put himself into swordsmanship lessons with the aspiration of being every bit a warrior as his father. “He is a fine young warrior,” the king remarked.

“I believe your opinion maybe unfairly influenced in his favor my love,” the queen pointed out, but love was shining in her eyes. John wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her against him. His chin nestled in the crook between her neck and shoulder.

“Perhaps it is so but I fear the truth is all that escapes these lips my darling.”

“And I do so agree. The men have taught him well. Look oh haha…” she laughed as she watched Stiles take on one of the knights. Sir Ralleigh had charged from behind, while Sir Fendry stabbed the boy’s middle. Stiles simply parried the thrust and quickly spun in some dance step of his own creation to smack away the other knight’s blade. Though they were holding back, well some of them considerably, before Fendry could regain his balance, Stiles had swiped down at his leg sweeping it out from under him so that he fell on his arse.

“That’s my boy,” the king murmured softly.

“You realize he only does this for you.”

“And by that you mean?”

“He’s learning the art of war to be a son after his father’s pattern,”

“What else would the boy do Claudia?”

“He does many things, and he is greatly talented in them. He also finds passion in them.” She had a tone in her voice the king couldn’t quite identify.

“What are you saying woman be plain about it.” John bit down on her shoulder playfully even as he commanded an answer.

“I don’t want him in battle.”

“He is a man Claudia and a prince at that, these things should they come about are unavoidable.”

“He is a boy yet, and even in his manhood he will not delight in the fight as you and your men do. He prefers…”

“The art and music and his voice is divine, all these things I know.”

“Then promise he will not fight, promise you will keep him from it.”

“Ach woman I am the king I cannot send men to battle and lead them out there and yet ask my son to remain behind. How would that look to the men, to our people?” The king released her and walked a short distance, his lips pursed now.”

“Germin is tender hearted and the men and the people know it. Our son has a light in him that lifts their spirits, they would want that protected just as I do, just as I know you do inside. Besides he is your only heir the good lord has seen fit to give to us…”

“Come,” he said turning about and reaching for her when he heard her words. “That is a blessing that I will cherish for lifetimes and love you until the end of those lifetimes… I will allow him the choice. I will not pressure him, I will make it his decision but you cannot counsel him should the time come and neither will I. Does that sound reasonable?”

She nodded. Her hand came up to brush gently at his cheek with her knuckles. She kissed him then deeply before turning to watch her son dominate the lesson his teachers had enacted.

**_~1620~_ **

“Come on Derek she’s probably the most beautiful and definitely the most talented girl at court,” Isaac prodded.

Isaac was one of the sons of the vassal houses. His father lived at court since his wife had passed. Isaac and Derek had become close friends. He’d also fell into line with the king’s brother Peter who was young enough that he spent an awful lot of time with the boys. Peter had taken a few of the girls to his chamber and Isaac had pulled Derek along to join them. “I’m sure she’s quite talented.” Derek agreed, watching the woman strewn across Peter’s bed, her head on her hand and a glass of wine pressed to her lips. Her blue eyes undressed the prince openly as her hand skimmed the front of her skirts, fingertips pressing tightly against the fabric so Derek could see she was pressing against flesh.

Isaac shook his head, giving up and walked into the room taking the hand of another girl, Marguerite Chambers. She immediately slipped her hand into his and fell into his lap as he eased onto the bed higher from the young woman who stared down the prince, Jane Crowley. Jane lifted her free hand and beckoned the prince forward but he simply stood and watched, half reluctant half lustful.

“What’s the matter lad, is she not attractive enough for you?” Peter called from behind the girl who was straddling him. His hand fumbled between his legs to pull his cock free of the flap in his trousers. When the head of his erection met the wet warmth of the woman, Lynsey Doyle, he gasped in pleasure. “I’m sure she’s eager to make up for it in other ways, little prince.”

“Don’t call me that,” Derek mumbled.

“What was that little lord I didn’t quite hear you?”

“Don’t call me little uncle, for I assure you,” he stepped forward then the sly smile on his face spreading devilishly, seductively, dangerously, “I am far from little and merely worry that the young lady may find herself climbing the wrong ladder…” his eyebrow raised as did hers, but her own smile endured.

“Come then my prince, I have climbed many a tree in my youth and I’m surely prepared for the length and breadth of your own.” Derek had come to stand right in front of her and she moved then, slowly climbing his body until her eyes met his and he reached in to take her tongue with his own in the hot cavern of her mouth. Her hand went to his pants and he laughed raw low and throaty.

“How does she taste my lord?” Peter called.

“Is she as sweet as malmsey wine?” Isaac queued.

Derek reared his head back from the woman and held her chin in place as he looked over her shoulder, “Sweeter even than honey…” he smiled wickedly for his friend and his uncle while slowly pushing Jane’s head down so that should take his manhood into her mouth. The show of power and sexual dominance bolstered his image in the eyes of the men as they cheered him on.

**_~1626~_ **

“His grace Prince Germin…” Stiles looked to the man with a creased brow and the gentleman quickly cleared his throat and covered, “…ahem Prince Stiles and Lord McCall.” Stiles had adopted the new name so well he almost completely replaced his own with it and probably would have had it not been royal. He and Scott entered the great hall and he smiled widely as he watched the people dance and sing in celebration.

“There she is Stiles the girl I told you about,” Scott whispered to his friend as he pointed less than discreetly at a pretty, tall and fair young woman with long waves of dark brown curls flowing down her back.

“Well then, she is gorgeous. And you still don’t know her name.” He laughed as his friend made a face before turning to greet his parents at the head table. “Lord father, lady mother.”

“My Prince come, kiss your mother. Where have you been the celebrations have sorely missed you.” Stiles moved then to embrace Claudia and press a kiss to her cheek. His father gave him a faux withered look as he pulled away and stepped down as if forgetting the man was also present. Immediately he leaned in to kiss the king on his forehead.

“My affections do not wane father,”

“As they better not.”

“I have been assisting Scott here with his lady troubles.”

“Your graces,” the boy said as he bowed to his king and queen.”

“Lady troubles, why you are far too young a lad to be dealing with such a thing,” the king remarked.

“And so handsome, you should be free of any troubles at all Scott. Where is your lady mother she is missed at court?”

“I shall tell her you are thinking of her, she still settles a few matters of my father’s estate as she has only now felt up to the task, and refused me lay a hand in it.”

“Ay she is a strong woman, she will survive, as you clearly have.”

Just then a familiar tune began to play, one the prince had come to call favorite. Scott turned to Stiles as did nearly half the room including the king and queen, expectantly.

“Well go on then boy the people are waiting for a show,” the king prodded. Stiles merely smiled and took off. He began prancing toward the circle of people dancing in the center of the room. His feet switched into a rhythmic pattern as his body swayed from right to left and then he spun in a circle.

Almost immediately the circle of people moved with him, matching his steps, following his choreography until they all danced in unison. The beat built and built until it hit a hook and Stiles began to sing, his voice raising and echoing throughout the room. The tune was joyous, upbeat and made everyone smile as they watched him.

His spirit was the talk of his court and many other kingdoms. All who knew of Scotland spoke of its prince, the master of sword and song, the artful prince, the dancing prince. The women in the room regarded him longingly, and so did many a man, their eyes roving possessively as if they would like to get him alone and keep his glory to themselves.

“We may have to provide him a guard just for the admirers he gains every day, to fend them off gently, some even forcefully,” The queen said dryly as she watched the looks of lust and wanting from many of the single people at court.

“Would that they had the courage to approach him, I would fear far more for their chances, as well as their sanity.” The king laughed knowing all too well his son’s ambition and standards.

**_~1621~_ **

“Wipe your face boy, your mother would have hated to see you crying like a child over this. What’s done is done she used to say and it is the truth. England needs a strong prince. Even more so if we are to take France to war for what they have done.” The king’s words were harsh and cold. His tone unfeeling, his face a mask. He had done his wailing in private and had sent away all those who had witnessed his fit of grief as he did not want to be reminded of his moment of weakness. When Queen Talia died, or rather, was murdered the whole of England was dark and silent for weeks. The king had placed himself in seclusion until her funeral and then seemed to become a different person. He was colder, more cruel and short as well as harsh with his son.

“It’s my fault,” Derek mumbled. The king remained silent. “I accepted her, I should have seen what she was doing. I should have known.”

“I will say this just the once. There is no use casting blame. We all accepted Catherine Argent into our lives and we have paid the price for it. Your mother, brother and sisters are dead. There is only what lies ahead and we will survive to see the house of France fall for their crimes against us.” The king turned to look at Derek then. The two men stood level as Derek had grown tall to match his father’s height. “This is the last we speak of this. Hales never admit weakness or defeat, we are strong and enduring do you understand me… Do You Understand!” He yelled to which Derek replied with a nod of compliance.

With that the king turned and walked out of the room leaving Derek alone with a fresh set of tears and all his regrets to keep him company. Catherine Argent had come from France, their princess with a deal for the royal English family. They were, through her marriage to Derek, to bridge the gap between the worlds of the wolf-kind and the humans by binding the wolf-prince Derek to the human daughter of France.

The entire deal had turned out to be a farce created by the French king in order to infiltrate the kingdom of the Hales and execute the royal family. Fortunately they had not succeeded in killing the King, Derek or Peter but the rest of the Hales had paid the price.

**_~1627~_ **

Stiles leaned into his father who hid the young man’s face away from the rest of the crowd that had gathered. “It’s time my son,” the king murmured against the boy’s ear as he stroked tresses of his silken brown hair. Stiles pulled away then and gave his father one parting gaze before he turned to Scott who squeezed his hand and then walked away.

“Fire!” someone yelled, and several flaming arrows hit the funeral pyre. The blaze rose quickly and as it dead the sobbing and cries lessened until they ceased and eyes settled on Stiles.

The prince stepped forward nearer the burning pyre and toward the center of the circle and lifted his voice beginning a song of mourning and of celebration. The tune was soft at first then built up rising to higher notes and the melody almost seemed to be a tangible thing in the air. Soon everyone joined him and sang a final song to their fallen queen who had died of a fever.

**_~1635~_ **

The fields were rank with the stench of blood. The grass was covered in the thick red liquid and the earth soaked it up but couldn’t make it all go away. The hot afternoon day was filled with the sounds of steel on steel as well as the growls of English wolves fighting Scottish ones. Screams of pain, groans of fading life and cries for mercy could be heard just under the sound of warring as the day went on.

Time had finally pitted Scotland and England against each other. Prompted by his wife’s murder the king had set on a campaign to unite all the lands through blood, by eliminating their monarchs and creating one country under his rule. His son the prince Derek had followed him into battle against every other country. France had endured as an independent but all the others had fallen to King William’s command. All except for Scotland and Ireland. The countries had united declaring the Alpha-King John ruler of both lands and commander of the great armies of them both which he’d used to go into battle.

Stiles had followed his father into war, refusing to let the man out of his site as he was afraid to lose another parent. He’d been a beast on the battle field, staying as close to the king as possible while cutting down any who stood in his way. Men had clambered to stay close to him and protect him but he hadn’t needed them to. Every now and then he’d shoot a glance around to find his father and make sure the man was safe.

The armies fought with fang and claw and steel until the land was so filled with blood it didn’t seem like it would ever wash away. And then the tide changed. King William had been cut down by King John and the roar of anguish and anger nearly vibrated the ground as Derek’s eyes changed from glowing sapphire to crimson and he knew instantly even as the power flooded his system that his father was dead and he was the new alpha-king of England.

Somehow father and son became separated in the grand charge led by Derek and Stiles was knocked to the ground. His vision blurred until he went dark and the last thing he’d heard before losing consciousness was the Scots call for retreat.

“What have we here,” the sound penetrated his dull, brief sleep and as he came to he could hear the hush that had settled over the battle field.

“Raise him up I will have his head,” Derek said as he came forward curling fingers around the hilt of his sword. Stiles’ head lolled as they lifted him and he fought to regain consciousness. He blinked rapidly as he tried to draw his surroundings into focus. Derek removed his sword from its scabbard and raised it when a halt was called.

“Your grace wait,” Sir Alan stepped forward inspecting Stiles armor, which was rather expensive, a compliment to his wealth and position. The knight’s eyes dropped to his dangling hand and noticed the ring on his finger and he gasped. “My king, this is the son of King John and Queen Claudia. This is Germin the prince of Scots.”

“I hear they call him Stiles,” another called.

“What’s a Stiles?” Derek queued.

“This boy apparently,” Deaton answered.

“I am no boy, I am a man and we will have your head for marching on us absent cause,” Stiles spewed the words venomously as he finally came back to himself and looked up to face the new king. As their eyes locked something uncertain occurred, Stiles wolf’s eyes flashed it’s bright and rare green as Derek’s scarlet shone for just a moment, before they returned to normal.

Derek gasped, “Your ey....” he took a breath and went on his face becoming cold and his tone mirroring that, “Haven’t you heard boy, the battle is done. Your father runs back to his castle and I come to find that I have his only heir. What a prize. I should kill you though, as he killed my father, a life for a life.” Derek’s tone became dark as he spoke of his father, his eyes flashing blood red.

“Your father deserved his fate and I will gladly see you to yours should you put sword in my hand.”

Derek laughed but it was withered and dark. “Not today little bastard, it’s the tower for you, and then we will decide what happens next. You’ll hardly enjoy it there but if only you can suffer some measure of discomfort then I can delight in some form of vengeance.”

Stiles spat in Derek’s face before growling his gaelic curse, “Go hifreann leat! – To hell with you.”

A hand came up to wipe the spit from his face before Derek swiftly brought the hilt of his sword down across Stiles head knocking him out. 


	2. Orbiting a Black hole

Derek’s face had been grim during the procession. He’d held up his father’s coffin at the front and carried it into the church with the other men. Peter was at his side. Isaac and Alan had also been there, helping him carry the heavy burden that was his father’s passing. In his mind he raged. The human in him wanted a quiet place where he could quietly, stoically mourn the loss of his entire family save his uncle while the alpha wolf in him wanted blood. It wanted to rip people in half and wreak havoc and chaos until the world outside matched his mind and soul. Black and red, the colors symbolizing blood and death.

The service didn’t take as long as Derek had thought, though his mind had wondered so many times and for longer and longer periods that he wasn’t even sure if it had ended quickly or that he just hadn’t paid any attention at all and had missed the whole thing. Either way it didn’t matter to him. The service was for the nobles not for him. He didn’t quite know how to be soft and emotional anymore, his father had made sure of that after the death of his mother. He wasn’t even sure what he was feeling about his father’s death. He knew there was anger that the man was dead, but there was something else he dared not admit aloud lest God smite him for being too much a sinner to be worthy of King. Although somewhere deep inside himself he acknowledged that the King of a nation was by comparison, the greatest sinner of them all.  

Derek spent the necessary number of days grieving for his father and family in seclusion. The only person he’d allowed in besides his uncle Peter was his friend Isaac. Isaac had always been his greatest ally and closest friend. The man knew him inside and out. And while he sometimes had bad ideas or goaded Derek into doing something stupid he still always had the right thing to say and knew when not to say anything at all. Isaac had visited him often in his seclusion and so had Peter. Those conversations had gone in very distinguishingly different directions.

On the last day of his self-imposed seclusion both men had visited one after the other. Isaac had walked in the room, his cape swishing behind him as he moved confidently into Derek’s chamber. Derek was just dressing himself while one of the women he ‘bedded for comfort’, a trick taught to him by his beloved uncle, exited his chambers flashing Isaac a shy yet, accomplished smile on her way out.

“I see you are ready to face the world again,” Isaac charged, moving close and sitting on the man’s bed.

“I never stopped facing the world old friend I simply stopped tolerating it for a moment,” Derek supplied with a cocky smirk.

“Things have changed though my lord.”

“Nothing’s changed Isaac, all is as it were before.”

“You are the king now Derek nothing is as it were before,” Isaac mocked his aloof tone with exasperation.

“I was alone then and am now, the only difference is that I now can command wholly, without looking to anyone else before making my wishes known.” Isaac’s face grew dark and fell a little. Derek noted the change and sighed when he realized what he’d said. “I did not mean it as it sounded Isaac. You know I love you as I would my own flesh and blood, as I would a brother, because that is what you are to me.” He leaned down and grabbed the back of Isaac’s neck before pressing their foreheads together a bit roughly. “You have been my family when all others have gone and left me alone, were it not for you and Peter I may not have survived many things.” He released his friend who smiled a bit as Derek kissed his forehead and returned to dressing himself.

“He loved you Derek.”

“Yes I’m sure he did my friend. But things fade with time and loss and we have had plenty of both.”

“You should not start your rule with such a dark outlook on this life we have.”

“But one should maintain a realistic life view if one is expected to be respected as an intelligent ruler, should one not?” Derek pinned him with an intriguing stare as he raised one eyebrow and froze in a pose for a moment. Isaac burst out laughing before he rose and clapped his friend on the back.

“Indeed brother, indeed one must.”

“One must what?” Peter asked as he walked into the room with several servants behind him.”

“Uncle what is all this?” Derek asked as he turned around only to be nearly inappropriately groped by a length of fabric being pressed against him by a servant.

“Much to do Derek, including get you fitted for your coronation.” Peter’s voice was upbeat, excited even, as though his brother in law hadn’t just died a few days ago. Derek sighed. He had forgotten about the coronation or rather, the need of one for he was the new king and it needed to be officially declared.

“Can’t this wait Uncle Peter? We’ve just come from war, my father has just died and I’ve just finished grieving.”

“No it cannot. We have just come from war which means our enemies may think us vulnerable now, especially without you properly installed as King of England. That also calls to mind the matter of your prisoner in the tower.”

Derek’s eyes flashed quickly and it made Peter frown as he’d been the only one to notice it, though he didn’t bring to anyone’s attention. Derek would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought of the prince of Scots in his seclusion. After the funeral, after taking some time alone, when he had been lying awake deep in thought, the young man had come to mind. For no particular reason he could discern, Stiles had flashed through his head like a comet falling across a clear sky. His eyes, his green eyes. Derek had wondered about those eyes. He had never come across a wolf with green eyes before, certainly not in his kingdom.

“Derek,” Peter called the man, pulling him from his thoughts that had gotten away with him.

“Yes, I shall suffer through the fitting, but we will leave discussions about how to deal with the bastard to a later date. I’m not quite interested in diving into that situation at this time. A short peace, I think is far overdue if only for another day or two.”

“That’s an excellent idea,” Isaac praised when he saw Peter was about to open his mouth again. Peter simply spared him a mildly agitated glance before sighing and nodding in agreement.

Derek spent a good portion of the afternoon being fitted for his coronation. He suffered the nearly inappropriate groping and caresses of servants who he was certain had given him ‘the eye’ on more than one occasion. He had suffered through the nods and head shakes of Peter and Isaac over every length of fabric that was brought in and tried against his skin. When finally the last measurements were taken and the final pieces of jewels were chosen to add to the entire ensemble, he found some peace, or whatever variation of the thing, a king was allowed to have.

The servants along with Peter and Isaac left him be and he chose to go riding, as there were no pressing matters he was interested in attending to at that moment. He’d only taken three guards, the others were commanded to stay behind. They galloped into the forest on horseback. Derek’s steed was tall and large. He had powerful legs and a long broad neck. His coat was a lustrous ivory and he tossed his head with a determined eye set on the course ahead of him.

Derek had named the horse Edmure when he was younger. He’d grown up with it and watched it be trained in battle and blood as he was. Needless to say, Edmure always seemed to know what he needed and how to react to every situation they were in. If he wasn’t mistaken, Edmure also enjoyed the peace and tranquility of their treks into the forest. Derek was most at peace there and so was the horse.

Derek dismounted and grabbed the reigns, leading Edmure to a tree where he could tie the horse there. He walked forward, pausing only to give a shallow glance to his guards who knew by then, they were meant to shadow him well enough that he could feel alone in the place he enjoyed the most. He remembered coming when he was younger, when his mother had the time and she seemed to always have plenty of that when it came to him and his siblings. She would bring them deep into the forest and run with them, watch them play and tell stories of how she grew up and all the wonderful things she’d seen. Derek hadn’t always been sure she was telling true stories or fiction but he didn’t care.

She made him forget about the terrible weight, one day becoming king, had been on his shoulders. Others might have thought it was all fun and games and commanding the world but Derek knew better. When he was old enough to think for himself, he had come to realize exactly what his life would be from then on. He’d lived in a box and would continue to do so until he died. That’s what being the heir apparent was, living up to everyone’s expectations and not just his parents.

He sighed into the silence of the woods as he turned his face up to the breeze that rushed through the leaves. He’d stopped crying when he thought of his mother. In some ways it had been a good thing and a bad thing. He felt terribly guilty even still about her death. Whenever he thought of her and didn’t cry he was grateful no one would think him weak but also wondered if he were as hardened a monster as his father had become.

Derek spent a significant amount of time in the forests until the sun began making a descent. He took his guards and headed back to the castle. Peter and Isaac joined him for supper and he resigned to retire early.

***

Stiles had come to in a dark and cold room. The space was small and frigid with one window in a northern wall though it was far too high for him to see down outside the building. There was a single sheet of stone jutting out of the wall with a blanket roughly strewn over it. It had taken Stiles several minutes to figure out it was meant to act as his bed. The brutes hadn’t even shown the decency to lay him on it when they’d brought him to where he assumed was the tower. At least that’s what the dog-king had said, he’d be taken to the tower. It must have been the tower of London he thought. That’s where the king’s castle was meant to be and surely the brute would want to keep him close by. He was a prize after all, though they obviously neglected to treat him like one.

Stiles got to his feet and immediately felt the harsh pains taking over him. There was a deep ache in his legs and a striking one in his head which he suspected had a lot to do with the blow he’d taken there from the dog-king himself. That was evidenced, by the line of dried blood he’d felt on his face. He looked down as his hand fell away from his face and noticed, he’d been stripped of his armor and beautiful clothing, to be replaced with a simple, loose and discolored shirt, falling long over a pair of trousers.

He sighed as he walked over to the stone bed and sank down on it a bit harder than he should have causing his bum to collide harshly with the stone. He jerked up before sitting back down, a bit more gently then. His thoughts turned to the outside world, to his father and his home he probably would never see again.

His father had been injured in the battle and was rushed off the field. He must have been unconscious otherwise he would never have left the area without his son. His father must now either be dead or distraught at having lost Stiles. Stiles imagined so many scenarios to pass the time which was hardly a useful distraction as it only served to worry him further.

He was a prisoner in the tower of the dog-king Derek Hale, son of the tyrant who had marched on the lands of Scotland to claim them for himself. Stiles marveled at the things greed drove people to. The man had started a war and lost his own life and for what, to add another province to the long list of lands he’d already accumulated. How many lives had been lost already? How many peaceful nations disrupted, and royal families displaced along with those people who served and cared for them in this long running campaign of greed and power seeking. Stiles’ anger flared at the thought.

_And now I’ve been abducted_ , he thought and the consequences of that situation were hardly promising. Either Derek Hale would execute him as an enemy of state or try to use him in some way to bring his father to heel, which though Stiles hated to admit it, would probably work.

He’d drifted into ponderings of his life for several minutes, bringing his legs up to cross under him on the make-shift bed, despite the pain. Minutes became hours, then, a noise caught his attention outside the door. It brought him back from his thoughts just before a man opened the door, grunted him a greeting which seemed more like an offering of displeasure, and tossed a bowl of something very nondescript on the floor near the wall. Before Stiles could think, the man was out the door, locking it and walking away.

Stiles climbed off the bed and inspected the bowl of dark slop. He grimaced at the thing, his eyes flashing as he growled slightly before tossing the bowl aside. The young wolf prince jumped back onto the bed and leaned himself against the wall until his eyes drooped and he drifted off again. His next several days had been spent like that, no visitors, no news of the outside and nothing edible he would consider putting in his mouth, not that he’d accept anything at all on principle alone.

***

It was a forest. Of course it was, Derek had spent enough time in forests to know what they looked like, even in the dead of night. Though this didn’t seem like just night. There was no light at all. The entire area was pitch black except for the soft glow of a single star that penetrated the darkness. That small amount of light illuminated the trunks of the nearest surrounding trees, enough, for Derek to make them out. Aside from that there was no indication of where he was. There was no wind and no scent and no sound besides his own breathing and beating heart.

He took a step forward, slowly and then another. He expected to hear the crunch of leaves under his bare feet but again there was no sound. He continued moving again, a few more steps but was stopped abruptly by the flicker of something in the distance. “Who’s there?” he called out into the darkness. There was no response. Instinctually he growled and that seemed to gain a reaction from the intruder. He noticed two points of light in the distance.

It was like they’d stepped out from behind a tree and were now in full view of him, straight ahead of him. The lights were just that, as far as he could tell. They seemed so far away all he could see was that they were lights but then something strange happened. They slipped behind another tree and instantaneously came from behind a different tree, but much closer than the one they’d hidden behind. Before he could remark on the occurrence or identify something tangible, it happened again, and again and again until it slipped behind a tree closest to the tree line near the clearing in which he stood.

Derek stumbled backward as he looked around trying to figure out where it had gone to and where it would come from but there was no preparing him for the way it had lunged out from another tree and headed straight for him. As it approached he finally got a comprehensive look and realized to his dismay what it was. Eyes! Two glowing eyes lunging at him while growing larger and larger. But even more than that, the eyes were green.

Derek woke with a start, his head aching from the shock of his dream, his eyes glowing sharp madder before fading once again to their harmonious blend of green and hazel. He sat up in his bed and felt the sheets peel away from him due to the sheen of sweat covering his body. He took deep breaths to calm himself and drove a hand through his slick, dark hair. A wary glance was cast at the woman in his bed before he swung his legs over the side and placed his head in his hands as he tried to will the headache away. _Green Eyes._ The words shimmered in the forefront of his mind and he was off in a heartbeat.

He’d made his way through the castle as quickly and silently as he possibly could. It didn’t take him long to get to the tower. He’d knocked hard on the wooden door at the entrance and the guards had let him in. “Take me to the Scottish prince.” It was a clear command and they did as they were told. The two men escorted him three floors up and left him with another man who seemed better dressed than they were.

“My lord a visit to the tower at this late hour, is everything alright?”

“Well enough Cromwell, let me see Stilinski.”

“As you wish your grace,” the man responded quickly before backing away and leading Derek down the dimly lit hall to a room at the end. Cromwell pulled out a bunch of keys and fiddled with them all before he retrieved the right one. He unlocked and opened the door before carefully stepping into the room first followed by Derek who stared at the young man inside. Stiles was standing underneath the high window and staring up at the sky outside.

“Leave us,” Derek said and the man, Cromwell, immediately left the room. Derek turned to glance at the several bowls of slop on the floor near the wall. He smirked.

“So the dog-king has finally come to visit,” Stiles whispered though he knew Derek would catch the words. He didn’t need to turn to know who it had been visiting in the middle of the night. He had picked up Derek’s scent at their very first meeting. It was something his father had taught him to do once the castle had been infiltrated by a spy from Norway. If he could identify scents in a short space of time, then he could always find the ones they belonged to. With Derek though it hadn’t been difficult picking up his scent in the few moments he’[d been conscious after being captured. And if the scent had been useless, Stiles would have remembered that voice anywhere.

Derek’s eyes flared at the insult but he resigned himself, oddly lulled by the cadence of the scots accent. “Is the bastard prince bitter then, I see you’re refusing to take advantage of my hospitality, what with your rations strewn across the floor.”

Stiles scoffed in response before turning around and Derek felt taken aback by the full sight of the young prince. “You insult me. I will not eat this shit and shame myself in the act.”

“Then you will starve.”

“So be it. Tell me, how will my father react to the news that his son is dead in the tower of London. The war would never end. Not only would his armies fight but every man and woman of my land will take up arms for me and then you will truly have war on your hands.” The words were spat out with such venom.

“Such arrogance to think this highly of yourself Germin.”

“Don’t you dare call my name,”

“I hear you prefer Stiles. Either way it matters not to me. You are nothing in this place, a simple peasant an omega and I am the supreme ruler of this court and presently your master.”

“I love my people and they love me, I know just how far they would go to rescue or avenge me. I’m not sure many others can say the same. Perhaps your own people are rejoicing at the death of their tyrant king while mourning his dog-son’s ascension to replace him.” Derek’s eyes burned scarlet as the back of his hand came down across Stiles’ face.

Stiles slowly turned, the shock receding at its own pace before his own eyes glowed emerald as he launched himself at the king, his claws coming up to swipe at the man’s face. Derek immediately blocked his arms and grabbed the wrist, twisting it so that Stiles was thrown to the ground beneath the king. Derek got on top of him, straddling his waist and grabbing the man’s arms at the wrist above his head to keep him from flailing in defense. He raised a fist to bring it crashing down but before he could Stiles roared at him eyes flashing terribly bright and Derek stopped.

The eyes, the green eyes that burned with such an intensity, ready to devour everything, held him pacified, almost. It took a few seconds for him to come back to himself. His glowing red fading as he regarded the fiercely defiant face beneath him. “You will remain here and you will eat and drink and live and I will decide your fate _Stiles,_ ” he said the name mockingly. “You are mine now, and nothing will change that.” He didn’t acknowledge the sound of more possession than loathing in his voice when he said the word mine before he got up and exited the room.

“Chain him and make sure he eats, I don’t care if you have to force the meals down his throat.”

“Yes sire,” Cromwell responded, and then Derek was walking off and returning to his chambers. 


	3. Obligations and Relations

 “No!” the word echoed on a growl throughout the kingdom as the king had come to and demanded to see his son. He’d thought it was awkward that Stiles wasn’t at his side when he’d woken and naturally assumed his son might have been injured but he didn’t consider for a moment that his son was captured by the enemy, because he couldn’t believe no one in his army had seen to it that Stiles was protected at all times even in the heat of battle.

Some of the men summoned to the King’s room had tried to explain what had happened but before they could finish he commanded them to leave his presence before he saw them all executed for abandoning their prince. It may have been an exaggeration in his anger but no one was about to challenge him on that. All they could offer him was that his boy had fallen on the battle ground, last seen alive yet the enemy had approached him. It was several days before the king had woken that night and there had been no word from England on the wellbeing of the prince, so they had assumed he’d met his end by the alpha king Derek Hale as revenge for John Striking down his father.

The man had gone through several visibly different phases as he tried to cope with the new found knowledge. At first he had raged and howled curses at the English and their dog king while weaving promises of retaliation into his slew of disgraceful insults. Next he’d deny profusely the probability of his son being dead, rationalizing that the boy king would not have the balls to go through with it for fear of retaliation or some other thing that would surely befall him for raising a hand to the noble prince of Scots. He then took to pacing back and forth and proposing a trade of some sorts with the King that would appease him enough to release Germin to his father and people. Finally bitter tears found their way to his cheeks as he howled and cried out a song of despair to the dark night for the loss of his only boy. It had gone on for a long time leaving the entire kingdom melancholy and despairing in solidarity with the king.

 John was so distraught he hadn’t noticed the sound of the beating heart in the room with him, or the swish of the robe or skirts that just barely skimmed the floor as the woman approached him, stopping just shy of lunging reach should the king in his volatile emotional state choose to attack.

“Great Alpha-King John Stilinski of the wolf-kind and human folk of Scotland and Ireland and all the lands in between. Leader of your people and friend to mine, I have come to you as a favor to a being we honor and respect. Despair not, I have had a seeing…”

John just barely turned about to see who dared address him when his features lightened and he regained some kind of color in his cheeks. He stared at the woman before him, first blankly and then with a soft kindness and hopefulness that could bring a tear to any eye. He opened his mouth to speak but his words played out as some kind of half heard croak. He stopped and cleared his throat before lifting himself to his knees from where he was hunched over on the floor of his chambers. “Lady Marin,” he began again this time taking his words slowly and calmly, or rather as calm as he was capable at the time. “Tell me please, and tell me true. Dispense with riddles and tales, half-truths and double speak and simply tell an already grieving man who has already lost a wife if his son is too, truly gone?”

Marin stepped forward, moving slowly and as gracefully as an angel stepped down from heavenly realms as she came closer to him. Her sable skin seemed to glisten in the light of the torches that were lit in the room. Her body was small but emanated power from every pore and her eyes glittered with a deep understanding of life and loss and the magic that bound all things. A petite hand rose towards the king as she began, “I do not want…” she paused letting her hand fall in a way that made the king’s heart wrench unkindly in his chest. “I do not want to provide you with a hope that you may choose to believe is set in stone. All things change good king. But the prince of Scots is alive-“ _–if only for the moment,_ she wanted to add but kept that bit to herself for fear of the king’s reaction.

“Oh blessings still rain down on me, how do you know Lady Marin, I mean can you be certain?”

“Have you received word of his passing?”

“No,” the king responded scrunching up his nose as he sat back on his folded legs. “but neither have I received word of his good health.”

“A childish game from an angry boy-king. I have had a seeing as I have said.”

“And what did you see?”

“Murky waters always provide an obscure view of the bottom of the river.”

“Marin…” the king growled as he got to his feet. Finally breathing in a half sigh of relief, the other half of which he knew would be held back for the day he held his son again, then and only then would he gladly exchange his tense breath for his son’s embrace. The woman smiled, “You know as well as I, that I cannot tell exactly what will happen, only the way things may unfold.”

“Then say what it is you believe could be most possible, this is my son’s life.”

“I am aware John,” she became very serious as her eyes became incredibly comforting for a moment but then resumed her almost detached manor as she continued. “Prince Germin is being kept in the tower, of that I am sure. Whether he lives or dies will depend on the Alpha-King Derek Hale and how he is affected by the prince’s unique… situation.” She said the word after a moment of finding the right way to put it.

“What does that mean?” the king begged sounding exasperated. He paced closer to the woman who only then lowered the hood that had kept her sleek and glistening ebony hair sheathed under thick fabric.

“It means John, that Stiles will either live so that Hale can find profit in his continued existence, or die by Hale’s hand as a retaliation.” John’s eyes immediately flicked to Marin’s chest as she finished her statement. They came back up to her eyes and his own were flashing red.

“What aren’t you saying woman? You forget I can tell lies from truth and by that specifically odd beat of heart I can tell that you’re leaving something out, and a lie of omission is still a lie.”

She barely flinched at his words. “Fine then. But not all that a seer sees is meant to be heard by those who cannot see as we can.” The king’s eyes merely brightened in their glowing scarlet, a low growl rumbling deep in his throat, a warning. “Please wolf-man, the whines of wolf kind have not scared me since I was a little girl and even then it was a passing fear like a child fears a frog until he discovers what fun they are to play with.” The words had a double meaning, the king could tell, not that she was admitting to enjoying toying with wolf-kind because even if she did John knew she would never speak on it. No, she was merely stating she could hold her own against them and wasn’t afraid to step into a fray should the need arise. He calmed then, his throaty rumbling dissipating until he simply looked at her helplessly, and she sighed. “A being like your son is rare, you’ve seen how the world reacts to him, gravitates even. Someone like that can be recognized as a powerful asset. Powerful men seek to acquire powerful assets, it is in their nature. However, in some cases when these men cannot gain that which they desire, they try to destroy it so that no one else may claim it and if so, use it against them.”

John expelled a harsh breath. Claws grew in his fingers and he balled his fists up so that their pointed ends dug viciously into his palm, tearing through skin and causing blood to drip from his knuckles down to the floor. Marin stepped closer to him then and took his clenched fist in her gentler, smaller hands. She smiled up at him as she lifted his fist and opened it. “Every action has its equal and opposite reaction and every consequence has the deciding factors which lead there.” She peeled back each finger until his hand was opened in front of her displaying the deep gouges where the four claws had stabbed him. The wounds immediately began to seal themselves. Marin looked down at his healing palm and John followed suit as she continued to speak. “It is how one responds to each situation, each action that helps determine the outcome.” When she looked up into his eyes, she was smiling again. The king simply regarded her with an openly confused expression shadowed by a hint of worry.

***

 The coronation had gone without a hitch. Derek was the most regal of all his predecessors through no fault of his own. He placed the blame for that at Peter’s feet who had brought in a host of jewelers and tailors to add more glamour and sparkle to the King’s clothing. When he’d sat on the throne and had scepter and crown placed in hand and on head, he looked every bit as much a crowned jewel as the one’s he wore. Somehow he couldn’t deny Peter when the man had insisted he wear everything he was presented with no matter how excessive he thought the garments and jewels had been.

He had heard gasps of awe and sighs of swooning women as he’d made his way down the aisle in the procession. He smelt the lust and desire oozing off the bodies of men and women who probably ran through secret scenarios in their heads, of coming undone by the king’s hand. For all their uncontrolled emotion, he barely noticed any of their faces. None of them had mattered, or registered in his mind. His thoughts had already been filled with something else. He had been having more dreams, dreams of forests and falling and green eyes and as much as he wanted to call them nightmares they didn’t frighten him half as much as the fact that his mind kept slipping back to what he could only determine to be the inspiration of the dreams, the only wolf he’d ever met with green eyes. He dared not even think the bitch’s name lest the thoughts take even greater root in his mind and he became unable to rid himself of them at all.

“Your grace,” Peter lowered himself in a bow before Derek from where he sat in his throne, presiding over the grand celebration that had been prepared in his honor. Derek side-eyed the space next to him, almost certain Peter had been there a moment ago.

“Uncle,” he called, gesturing for the man to rise.

“I’ve brought an esteemed guest to meet with you, perhaps you would like to show her how well a king can dance.” Peter eyed him knowingly, a wide smile spread on his face as he ushered the woman who’s hand he was holding, toward the king. Derek grimaced at his uncle before turning his attention on the woman. Who immediately bowed low so that her wealth of strangely reddish orange locks fell over her shoulder and bounced in an attractive rhythm before her perky breasts that were just bound by the fabric of her dress.

Derek reached out and tucked back the hair that had fallen behind her ear before tracing his fingers down to her jaw to tip her head up so that he could look into her eyes. They were a brilliant shade of green that reminded him of emeralds which he probably had one or two wearing on his person at the moment. “Perhaps my uncle does have a good idea for once. Shall we my dear?” He questioned, but hardly waited for the response as he took one of her small hands in his own larger one and stood up from where he was sitting. Only then did Derek realize the hush that had settled in the room. He looked around at the people who were all watching the woman whose hand he’d taken before glancing quickly back to him and then looking away. He smirked before resuming his descent from the throne and leading the woman onto the main floor.

They parted at the center of the room and took up their positions opposite each other to begin the dance. Derek raised a hand and she raised the opposite one before they stepped forward and circled each other. “And would a rare beauty such as yourself offer her name to a man such as me?”

“Do you mean a battle hardened warrior, or are you referring to your title of Alpha King of England?” she returned with a bewitching red lipped smile.

“You decide my dear,” he offered as they turned stance and moved in the opposite direction.

“Both are quite worthy of such a hefty price in my opinion.”

“Worthy,” Derek scoffed. “I suppose a woman like you is allowed to think that highly of herself.”

“I believe you mean lady, and every lady should think highly of themselves otherwise men may not think anything of them at all.” She challenged him with her words at every turn and he was impressed.

“Then my lady, may I have the honor of knowing your name?” Derek offered a half bow as they broke away again briefly to turn both right and left before returning.

“I am Princess Lydia Anne-Marie Martin of Denmark.” Derek’s eyes widened for a moment as he turned quickly to pin Peter with a glare before he just as quickly returned his attention to the woman before him and smiled wolfishly.

“So that is where that delicious accent is from.”

“You flatter me your grace.”

“You are quite a treasure my lady, I have truly enjoyed this dance.” He pulled away gently, gracefully as the music ended and bowed to the woman respectfully. “Perhaps you might join me again sometime, perhaps in a much less formal setting.”

“As your grace desires,” Lydia bowed to the king and watched him nod before walking away. The man grabbed his uncle’s arm and tugged him along taking him far enough away from the celebrations that no one could listen in on them.

“What the hell are you doing Peter?”

“Derek you must relax what is it you think I’ve done?” Peter countered with a raised eyebrow and a wicked gleam in his eye.

“Why the fuck is the princess of Denmark here?” Derek half growled.

“I don’t know Derek perhaps she prefers the weather, or maybe she simply fancied a change of scenery.”

“Don’t trifle with me Peter!” Derek barked at the man.

“Fine you got me then, I’m found out.” Peter raised his hands in surrender before stepping out from between Derek and the wall the man was pushing him against. “What did you think of her though?”

“Hmm let me see,” Derek said bringing a finger to his chin. “I thought she was a set up.”

“Be serious nephew, I’m trying ever so hard.”

“You’re tr..” Derek laughed, “Are you fucking joking. You’re setting me up Peter with some poor girl from faraway who…”

“… She is hardly poor. Her dowry is massive and besides she wanted this. She believes it would be a wise decision to unite the kingdoms of Denmark and England in marriage.”

“Denmark is not an independent any longer.” Derek stated dryly.

“It is until there is a crown prince installed there. Your father was ambitious but he had no way of holding the kingdoms to him after he conquered them. It won’t be long before they all individually rebel Derek.” Peter spat out getting slightly agitated. “Do you want to undo all of your father’s work by being daft?” Derek growled a warning to the man who merely pressed on. “The only way to keep the kingdoms is to have heirs to place on their respectful thrones. If you unite with Denmark, that will assure their loyalty and once you breed with their princess, and place sons on each of the thrones you currently hold none will be able to oppose you in the future.” Peter finished slowly as he read Derek’s pensive face for a reaction, hopefully the one he wanted to see.

“You speak as though it’s already decided…”

“Derek,” Peter stepped close and clapped his hands on the man’s shoulders, “my nephew, I know you want to make your father proud, honor his memory. This is the way to do it. Besides you need a queen. The coronation isn’t the end of the road, it’s hardly enough. Until you have a few pups of your own you can so easily be removed.”

There was a brief silence where Derek calmed himself and looked up at his uncle wearily. He breathed in deeply and then let it go. “Princess Lydia Martin then…”

“She’s the perfect match,”

“She’s certainly beautiful,” Derek agreed. Peter nodded as he spoke smiling again now that Derek was on board.

“Court her, make her feel special even if it’s just a deal on one front. You never know, you may grow to love her even, if that’s what you want.” Derek huffed his doubt. He wanted a mate and mates were supposed to know surely, without doubt, know. It was in the true admittance of a pure emotion felt toward that one person.

“Don’t doubt something you’ve yet to attempt at finding Derek.”

“Of course uncle,” Derek replied as he turned to return to the festivities.

“Another way to secure your father’s legacy Derek is to put a proper plan of action together with regards to the Scottish prince.” Derek growled again though he wasn’t sure why, maybe mental exhaustion. “It must be done son, we cannot simply hold the boy indefinitely. His father won’t hold back forever. The only lands your father has yet to take are Scotland and Ireland.” Peter gave the statement suggestively.

“What would you have me do then uncle?” the man queued through clenched teeth.

“Send a messenger to the king. Tell him his son is well in hand and will be maintained as long as their loyalty to England and you is announced and a formal decree is made declaring their joining with the united countries of Britain.”

“What makes you believe he would sacrifice so much for one man?” Derek countered, turning to face his uncle again.

“Because that man is beloved more than you and I could possibly understand, and besides, it’s the only son John has, he will do what he must to get him back.”

“The idiot refuses to nourish himself, presently I have Cromwell forcing food down his throat, that is hardly well in hand, and I hardly feel so inclined to change the circumstances of his stay either.”

“Sacrifices Derek, sacrifices must be made for the greater good, and that is a unified Britain. As William saw it.” Derek made a strange whine in his throat before he nodded and huffed again.

“I must be included in every part of this uncle. Nothing is to be done without my seal of approval.”

“Of course your grace. Now might we return, I believe poor Isaac was left to entertain the princess and she might be far more than he can handle.”

***

Stiles grunted as he tossed his head to the opposite side so the man couldn’t shove the spoon in his mouth. “God you’re defiant..” Cromwell hissed.

“And you’re a brute,” Stiles shot back without turning lest the man take another stab at his mouth.

“And what have you learned of me for you to make such a claim. We are neither friends nor acquaintances. We have not carried conversation nor have we passed greeting between one another. And that is through no fault of my own my young prisoned prince.” Stiles turned to look at the man a bit confused. It was the most he’d spoken to him for the past few days, since he was ordered to force feed him. The man had clearly kept his distance though, Stiles had, after a few days, caught the man casting sorrowful glances at him that seemed almost apologetic. He had yet to succeed in getting food into Stiles and though Stiles was strong and enduring he started to feel the consequences of his decision.

“And just why should I learn anything of my jailor, the man paid and commanded to keep me bound and force me to eat as though I were some wild beast in need of breaking.”

“We all follow the orders set out for us by the ones we call majesty. If your king came to you and ordered you to carry out an action against the supposed enemy would you not do so? Besides I have yet to force feed you anything in case you have yet to realize.”

The man was right, on both counts. Stiles knew he wouldn’t disobey an order from his father and he also knew the man hadn’t forced Stiles to eat. He’d attempted to get food in him but none of his attempts had succeeded and his methods had never escalated. Stiles expected violence but it never came. Stiles looked to him curiously, “Why do you not force me then, beat me as it seems you should have had to?”

“Because it is not my desire to terrorize you and say it is for your own good. Besides if you do not want to consume the food, you will find a way to expel it before it is swallowed. Or shall I beat your mouth open and beat your throat until it swallows and continue until there is nothing left to beat because it is all broken.” The man placed the bowl of whatever it was down next to him and half scoffed half laughed. “Rather, I would have hoped you’d see that if you wanted to find a way free, or to see your father again you would think it necessary to keep your strength up, but alas we are not all scholars.”

Stiles furrowed his brow before a small smile crept across his face, grudgingly mirroring the man’s smile in front of him. “What’s your name then jailor?” He asked after a moment of reconciling his newfound appreciation for the man’s wit with his discomfort at being imprisoned by him, though he supposed it was the king who was keeping him locked and bound.

“Cromwell,”

Stiles scowled, “That is your family name sir, what is your name?”

“Daniel Mahealani,” Stiles smiled at him again.

“That’s strong and exotic are you from our isles by any chance?”

“No prince Germin I am not I can assure you.”

“Well don’t say it like it’s a bad thing.”

“Hardly.”

“You’re an intriguing man Danny,” Daniel gasped. “What have I said something?”

“No it’s just my mother was the only one who ever called me Danny.”

“I’m sorry…”

“No no it’s fine, I like it.”

“Well of course you do. It’s far better than Cromwell, so stiff.” Daniel laughed at the man’s words. His accent making him sound as though he were singing them rather than carrying on a conversation. “Come then, Jailor Danny, feed me so that I may keep up my strength to find a way out and see my father again.” He winked at the man who returned it easily as he picked up the bowl and began feeding the contents to Stiles willingly accepted them despite the grimacing and scowling of displeasure at the less than welcome taste. 


	4. Beautiful Cages

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Guys new position at work making it hard to write as often as I was but I'm trying my best to make some time. Hope the next chapter can come sooner.

“You were the one who told me to dispatch the fucking messenger in the first place and here you are, now telling me to do the complete opposite!” Derek yelled. His hand came down hard on the flat of the table sending a resounding smack through the room. He rose to his feet, pushing back the chair he had been sitting on so he could pace in a corner of the room. The action wasn’t particularly calming or supportive in any way save the outlet it afforded for him to release the energy that rapidly built within.

 Peter cleared his throat from where he sat before glancing around at the others seated around the table. Derek had called a meeting of advisors to discuss their course of action concerning the Scottish prince. The table of men he’d summoned included Isaac, Peter, Alan and several others he didn’t often privately converse with outside of political matters. There was only one other face he did not recognize, a tall dark-skinned lad who’d accompanied Alan into the meeting room, but Derek hadn’t asked him to leave or inquired about his presence.

“Your grace, I’m not saying not to send the messenger, I’m only saying not yet.”

“What do you mean not yet, this timing is crucial. The man has not had word of his son in over two weeks what do you think he will do if this continues…”

“Nothing for a while…” the thought was voiced and the heads turned as the not unwelcome suggestion came from the only man Derek didn’t truly know well at all. “My king, if I may…” the dark skinned man interjected again, this time into the silence that followed his first offering.

“What is it and who are you?” Derek snarked, a bit irritated from the way the proceedings were going.

“Your grace, this is Lord Vernon Boyd, Count of Charleston.” Alan interjected, as though he were trying to diffuse a tricky situation. Derek simply sighed and nodded before he resumed his pacing.

“Go on then,”

“Your grace, the duke is not wrong in suggesting you wait to send the messenger.” Derek became visibly annoyed again but Vernon simply carried on without quickening or stopping as though he hadn’t noticed at all. “The condition of John Stilinski’s son and heir will weigh heavily on his decision when he receives your order. Might I suggest that for a week before dispatching a messenger the Scot’s accommodations be changed to suit someone of his title,” he paused momentarily with his head slightly tilted and his eyes narrowed at a point somewhere on the ceiling as though he were just putting his thoughts together as he presented them to the king. “The first week will give him time to have acclimated to his new surroundings. After this is done the messenger can be sent. It is at least a day’s ride to Scotland. The King will surely send a response to which you would be required to answer.” Boyd flailed a hand though the action seemed rather controlled as he continued to lay out his thoughts for his king on the matter. “He will certainly ask about his son and demand he be allowed to view him which you would deny and suggest he send a small party who will be allowed safe passage to verify that the prince is safe and well and will continue to be so as long as you are obeyed. From there it is probably the easiest path to tread as everything will have fallen into place.”

Everyone seemed to stop and stare at the young man as if he’d just done something incredibly brilliant or incredibly foolish depending on who was viewing him. He regarded them for only a moment before he proceeded to finish his thoughts. “Furthermore, word is bound to get around as gossip does tend to travel as I’m sure it already has about the Scottish prince now, however when others hear about your treatment of the prince and how you amicably negotiated a peaceful combining of the kingdoms, even in the face of such woeful circumstances, on the heels of the last king’s war, you will have earned the respect of royals everywhere when they take into account what may happen if they were in Prince Germin’s shoes. And really who wouldn’t back a king who’s proven his honor through and through. The actions you take today may set the tone for how you either take the kingdoms or lose them all, assuming that is the end you wish to achieve…” Boyd finally trailed off after Derek took another step bringing him ridiculously closer to the man.

“Apologies if I have said too much your grace,” he began but Derek rose a hand to silence him and slow enough, a smile lit up his features as he clapped a hand onto the man’s shoulder.

“You have quite the strategic mind Vernon Boyd Count of Charleston.” Derek commented openly as he looked around the room to see others nodding in agreement.

“Well he has always been one of the more intelligent young men I’ve come across,” Alan pitched in.

“I appreciate the accolades sire, I’m merely doing my duty and serving you the best way I know how.”

“And serve me you have. There is not one bit of your plan that doesn’t ring true, now to implement it. First step,” Derek paused as he looked down at Boyd.

“Germin’s accomodations.”

“Yes they need to be elevated,” there was a hushed bite to Derek’s words as he offered them, the idea grating against his need for revenge. Somehow though, he found that as hard as it was to admit that he needed to _care_ for the prince of Scots, there was a slight bit of relief somewhere inside himself at having arrived at the decision.

“We don’t need to take him from the tower though…” Isaac started.

“Of course not, he is still a prisoner here,” Derek butted in.

“He just needs the appearance of a free man.” It was Boyd who finished for him.

“That is simple enough. Have him placed in the queen’s rooms,” Derek uttered with a wicked smile as he turned to Isaac who would obviously deal with the task at hand. “Have him prepared a proper meal and send in the tailor’s to provide something for him to wear.”

“And will I be taking on the care of the prince project then,” Isaac bit back plaintively. Derek glared at him and he hung his head a bit in shame a bit in defense.

“Sorry, your grace.”

Derek sighed at the showing and moved over to his friend, “Come now. Perhaps you’re right. Someone does need to take on the role of seeing to him if this is meant to work.”

“I offer my services your grace,” Boyd spoke up. His tone was even and suggestive as he looked at the king who regarded him with a shocked expression.

“Are you certain this is something you would not mind seeing to?”

“Of course not sire, it is but a small thing. Besides, in order to ensure that this plan proceeds as designed, it would be best to remain close to Germin. At least to make sure he believes in the new treatment he will be receiving.” Derek nodded and clapped his hand to the man’s shoulder once more.

“You are most definitely an asset Count Charleston. I will be sure to keep you close by.” He began to move and in turn brought the man with him. “Shall we proceed then. We should tell the young prince where his future lies.”

***

The soft but sweet melody of his voice filled the small cell as Stiles sang out the words to an old Gaelic hymn his mother used to sing to him when he was a wee lad. He sat cross-legged on the cold hard ground with his palms lightly resting on either knee. His back was straight and his green glowing wolf’s eyes were prominent in the dim lighting of his cell.

Stiles had realized a long time prior that somehow when he connected fully with all of himself, joining that which was wolf with that which was human, his abilities as simple and ordinary as they may seem became amplified exponentially. He didn’t know how to explain it or even why it happened, all he knew was that when he was both wolf and man at the same time allowing that energy of his two natures to blend, he could do anything.

The notes almost swiveled and danced in the air as he sang out keeping his eyes steadily connected to the friendly jailor he had taken a shine to. Lord Cromwell, or Danny as Stiles had taken to calling him. Daniel was leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his chest, though they were so loosely bound it looked as though they would, of their own volition, fall to his sides. This was due in its greatest part to the fact that the man had become completely entranced by the prince’s hidden talent. Danny’s mouth was slightly ajar as he continued to listen to the sensationally soothing, honeyed tone that caressed him in places that, if he had the time to really think about it, he might be worried.

When prince Germin had finished his lullaby there was a comfortable silence that fell for several moments while Danny continued to gaze at the man sitting in front of him. Stiles eventually began to feel a bit awkward and a slow, nervous smile crept across his face and he brought a hand back to roughly push back his long curled hair. “Um..” he began.

“Sorry,” Danny jumped in, closing his mouth and blinking rapidly for a while. His face was filled with a kind of unexpected awe that he seemed to have a bit of trouble communicating verbally. “That was… I uh… that was quite.. something Stiles I, wow.”

“Now I’m sure to be reminded of this as the most embarrassing moment of my lifetime thus far,” Stiles laughed.

“Hardly,” Danny countered, “You’ve lived quite the life as you’ve told me there is bound to be something worse than this moment, besides, I was paying you a compliment good prince. I finally got you to share your talent with me and I assure you the memory of what just occurred is a treasure I will be sure to keep safe for the rest of my lifetime.” He skilled deeply at the young prince and Stiles smiled back, mores easily this time.

“Might I ask what it is that will be treasured so,” the voice seemed to completely disrupt the entire atmosphere along with Stiles entire demeanor as he scrambled to his feet. Danny pushed off of the wall and turned to stand at attention before his King as the man and two others stood just beyond the threshold of the cell door that had only been kept slightly ajar, hopefully to avoid a situation like that  in the first place, however life…

“Or perhaps the better question would be to ask why Lord Cromwell is in here entertaining the conversational whims of our detained guest.” Though the words were spoken loosely and absent a specific tone, they could all identify a special bite to his words that internally made Derek quietly worry.

“Your grace,” Daniel piped as he bowed in respect. “Apologies, I only came to ensure that the prisoner was well in hand.”

“And is he then?”

“Yes your grace.”

“Then perhaps you should return to do some other work that surely requires your attention Cromwell.” Derek raised an eyebrow as he said the man’s name, sizing him up. Danny simply nodded and made a move to leave before the dark skinned gentleman to Derek’s right grabbed his arm to halt him.

“Wait my king,” Boyd spoke quickly lightly brushing his own hand to Derek’s shoulder.

“Perhaps this is a fortunate situation we have stumbled upon. As it would appear, Cromwell,” he nodded to the man he was still holding, “has befriended prince Germin or the other way round, either way this may prove… helpful with our present endeavor.”

Derek turned to look at him, then switched his gaze over to Danny who tugged then on his arm to pull away from Boyd’s grasp until the man let him go. Danny shyly made eye contact with the king before looking away, waiting for some kind of signal suggesting he should leave. The alpha-king eyed Daniel roughly, his lip twitching as though he was about to snarl. He finally broke off and turned to the prince, whose body was tense, heart rate was elevated and face was a mask of anger and hatred, the mixture of which Derek seemed to be unhappy with seeing, directed at him.

“Fine then.” Derek murmured. “Prince Germin,” he continued moving forward to stand in front of the man and giving him a short bow. “I do apologize for the way you’ve been treated thus far. You must understand I was in a precarious position and a volatile state following my father’s war and his death. I took my rage out on you and forced you into this lifestyle quite unbefitting of your title. I would like to amend the situation if you would be so kind as to co-operate.” The words were like a silken spell weaving its way through the room and all who were partial fell victim. Danny found himself leaning forward slightly as he actively paid attention to the king even more than before.

It was Stiles who had been most affected though. His entire body calmed and his eyes seemed to soften as his face displayed his slight confusion and momentary disconnect with the reality of the situation he had deduced. Before too long, he caught himself, lifted his walls and resumed glaring at the king. “If you wished to make a funny you could have sent a jester,” he uttered with not one ounce of humor in his voice. Derek merely smiled at him as his eyes roved, the action so quick on the young prince’s body that he didn’t even notice he’d done it.

“Please prince Germin, if you would accompany Lords Boyd and Lahey and myself to your new accommodation.” He gestured to the men as he spoke.

Stiles looked at them one at a time before turning his attention to the emptiness or rather lack of man power around them. “And where are the guard to bind my hands, shackle my feet and march me to a new cage?”

“That won’t be necessary, unless of course it is your desire to fight, right now?” Derek put it to him with the slightest bit of intrigue in his eyes. Stiles flashed a glance at Daniel after a long while, who nodded to him as subtly as he could without the others drawing the wrong conclusion about the action.

“Fine,” was all Stiles offered as he let the others lead both him and Daniel to the queen’s rooms in the tower. When they’d walked into the room the space was wide and the ceiling was high. There was an assortment of furniture laid out in the room in the most carefully placed patterns and the walls were decorated with portraits.

“Please, get acquainted with the space, you will be sent several servants to attend you for the moment.”

“And what I wonder has prompted this vast change of heart?” Stiles challenged as he turned about in the room to take in the surroundings.

“I’ve already told you Germin, if I may,” Derek asked inclining his head to a side but he didn’t wait for a response, “my grief got the better of me but I see clearly now.”

“Yes as you said. I must admit though, I’m impressed with the way you’ve learned to lie so well, even for an alpha. Your heartbeat was so undisturbed when you made that shite explanation…”

Derek laughed, his head tipping back just so and his eyes rolling back a bit. Boyd and Danny turned to look at him both clearly a bit shocked at his reaction to Stiles continued impudence. Derek’s laugh quieted and became a small but rather genuine smile on his face as he stared at Stiles for a moment not answering. “Your reluctance to believe in what I say is of course expected. I would like to point out though that you are still alive, and you aren’t being tortured or beaten or whatever else some evil tyrant would do to the enemy of his kingdom. That is because, while you must remain here presently, I do not wish to harm you.” His eyes roved the young prince again, this time the look lingering a little longer. “Anyway that’s enough of that, you,” Derek turned to Daniel and flagged him over. “You will move over to this wing in order to see to Prince Germin, and ensure his safety and health. This,” he gestured to Boyd, “is lord Vernon Boyd count of Charleston. He will be overseeing Prince Germin’s care while he is here, perhaps you can think of him as your ward for the moment.” He spoke the words to Germin after turning once more to face him. The prince regarded him with a cold glare before turning around and stalking off to the window in silence.

“Well if there is nothing else then, unless you are planning on revealing that I will soon be released…”

“That won’t be happening my prince, I do apologize,” Derek lied with a smile that said he was clearly unapologetic about it.

“Then leave me,” Stiles swatted a hand at the air in their direction as though he were the king and they would all do as he pleased.  Derek scoffed, turning to Boyd with an amused expression. “As the prince commands it.” He uttered before turning on his heel with Boyd behind him.

 

When they were gone and after several moments of silence Stiles turned to find Danny standing in the corner watching him curiously. “What do you make of this? He asked his previous jailor turned friend.

“I’m not quite sure what he’s up to, not that I ever know what the king is doing. It smells like a plot though, sorry I can’t be of more help. I’m not in his inner circle not that I would leak you information or break you out or anything like that if I could I mean…” Danny sighed, having clearly realized how much he’d tied himself up in circles trying to explain himself to Stiles.

Stiles just rose a hand to get his attention and silence him altogether. “No need for that. I understand who you are and what you must do. And I wouldn’t ask you to do anything to jeopardize yourself or your family, not for me.” Stiles took in a deep breath and expelled it harshly as he sank down onto the giant bed. “That man is trying to do something I just wish I knew what it was.”

“Maybe he’s trying to woo you,” Danny suggested.

“Don’t be foolish Daniel, I’ve heard that the dog king is quite the whore even from my home in Scotland.”

“Yes but that doesn’t mean that he’s exclusive to women. I…” he looked up and about him as though any moment someone would come in and accuse him of treason for having an opinion or sharing the little gossip he’d managed to pick up around court.

“Go on then,” Stiles smiled at him and lifted a hand to beckon him forward. Danny complied, moving close until he was standing just in front of the young prince.

“I saw the look he was giving me when he first came to retrieve us. He looked and smelled jealous of what I don’t know but that is what it seemed like.”

“Ha!” Stiles exclaimed loudly. “Even if that were remotely true, I could never feel anything for that arse.” Even as he spoke the words he realized his heart had stuttered just slightly enough to cast enough aspersions on the statement he’d made no matter how confidently he’d said it. 


	5. Suppression

Soft laughter filled the surrounding forest like so much sunshine filtering through the canopy of leaves covering the sky over their heads as Derek and Lydia rode their horses in the forest. A single escort had been allowed to trail them. At the king’s insistence he was only allowed a few feet away within sight while the rest of both their guards were commanded to remain at the tree line until they returned or they were signaled in the event of danger.

The princess Lydia had challenged the king to a race of sorts using the turns between trees as obstacles through which they had to weave. She had immediately taken the lead when the race had started and through some interesting turn of events, had bested Derek in the race altogether. He chased her freely through the woods, watching as the fiery golden mane tossed back behind her, bouncing with every step of the horse and flying behind her when the breeze from her speedy lead picked it up and blew it behind her.

Lydia laughed again as she dismounted her tall white stead. A horse she had brought to England with her on her ship. Gallivanting footfalls came to a halt beside the princess’ horse, and in moments, Derek was off of Edmure and standing in front of Lydia, as she remained where she stood, watching him with a cocky grin. “I concede this point to you then princess.” Derek spoke the words with the accompaniment of a half bow and slight inclination of his head in respect to the victor of their little game.

“Of course my king. Might I add, you may have to get used to me winning. I tend to get what I want,” with that she smirked, a wickedly sexy expression on her, before turning on her heel and slowly walking off. Her flipped back and flitted in the soft breeze that blew in the airy forest.

“You’re an arrogant little thing,” he uttered, as he picked up and followed her but kept a slow pace so that he seemed in constant pursuit.

“tsk tsk,” Lydia tutted in response. “There’s a difference between arrogance and confidence, your grace…”

“Derek, please,” the king interrupted but Lydia simply continued on showing he hadn’t disrupted her train of thought.

“And while I may have both, I also possess the restraint and intellectual ability to smith my words so that the more admirable is never taken for the more aggressive and ultimately less attractive of the two. Besides, I prefer to be honest, most times,” she threw in as she tossed him a sly wink over shoulder, “so as not to appear misleading. And a little more truth for you,” she turned then, to glance at him and he nodded her on. “I shan’t be referring to you so informally or intimately, without first being presented a formal proposition.”

“A bit presumptuous, wouldn’t you say princess,” he remarked with mock shock in his tone, though her words somehow, hardly surprised him at all. At that, Lydia stopped and turned around to face him. Long red-gold tresses fell over her shoulder and cascaded atop her bosom in a ridiculously alluring display that kept drawing Derek’s attention to ‘not her eyes’.

“Let us do away with the pretense then, your grace. The facts are plainly obvious. You need a queen, a title to which I am suited in every way. We will provide a mutually beneficial alliance wherein I give you an influential allied nation and you give me a throne. And not just any throne, _the_ throne.” When she said the latter her eyes gleamed with a danger and desire that made Derek wonder if he’d adequately analyzed just who she was. He kept silent though, as he continued to listen.

“My fiery spirit and independent nature excites you, while your deceptive reservation excites me.” His brows arched at her take on his nature, which was almost unfairly accurate. It meant she’d been watching him, and not just distantly or through rose colored glasses. No, she had studied him from the moment she’d gotten to court and every day they’d spent together since as he courted her and had analyzed just what kind of man he was.

“And finally, you and I clearly find each other attractive,” her eyes dropped down to her own breasts, before catching his eyes to ndicate where he couldn’t help but glance every so often. Derek’s face lit with a smile as he stared her down.

“You make it sound so impersonal.”

“Well it is a business transaction for all intents and purposes, your grace.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy it,” he challenged.

“Who said anything about not enjoying it?” she countered, earning another arched brow. “I plan on enjoying every moment of our time together my lord, that is, if you choose to have me…” A hint of vulnerability highlighted her words but Derek realized by then, it was merely one of the ways she effortlessly and successfully managed to manipulate others. He smirked at her, as he remained silent. The quiet seemed to pull a reaction from the princess, a slight flinch, even as her demeanor generally didn’t waiver, even as she didn’t blink. It made him think that she was human after all, well…

After the moment lingered on for a delicate few seconds, he sighed, and took a step forward, closer to her, possessively invading her personal space. His eyes roamed her face, her body, caressing and touching her intimately with only the weight of his gaze. “You realize, my dear, our… compatibility is untested, physically anyway.”

“Then what more are you waiting for when I’ve all but thrown myself at your feet.” In the instant the words were free from her lips Derek grabbed her. His hands curled around her arms strong but gently as he pulled her into him, crushing her against his body so that even through the layers of cloth separating skin from skin he could feel the heat between them as her breasts molded to his chest and her hips collided with his pelvis. His mouth clamped down on hers and his tongue insistently pushed its way into her mouth, commanding entry and conquering the warm wet cavern until their passionate merging was desperate and hungry. Lydia’s eyes were shut so tightly that the force of her lidding them tight and the fire of their kiss brought stars dancing among the delicate blend of white and black behind her lids. Her mouth reacted to his submitting where he took the lead, most probably the only way she ever would truly submit to a man, Derek thought as he pilfered a true kiss from the now breathless princess. He pulled away and took a breath, watching her pant desperately, watching her eyes go heavy and her cheeks pink up with a rose colored blush that was slowly spreading to the rest of her. He could scent her arousal and it made him eager to know what the wetness between her thighs would feel like.

Suddenly his eyes locked on hers. The glittering emeralds half hidden by heavy lids and his mind went somewhere else. He remembered his dreams, the eyes that haunted him. Green eyes that were becoming more a part of his life than he’d care to admit to. Eyes that commanded his attention. Eyes that pushed him off balance. Eyes that shattered his resolve. Eyes that belonged to a prince he kept tucked away in the royal rooms of his prison yard.

“Derek!” Lydia pressed, her hand squeezing his shoulder tightly. The man shook his head as he came back to himself and studied her for a moment.

“I..” he tried but cut off before he said something less ike his normally cool and collected self than he preferred her to see.

“And I thought I was the one so affected by that display of affection,” she teased allowing her hand to linger on him, possessively.

“I take it a formal proposition is no longer necessary.”

“Darling, I thought that was the proposition,” she replied, her hand now trailing down the muscles of his bicep.

“I’ll consider it answered then.” He smiled for her though it didn’t completely light his face, and certainly not his eyes, not when his mind was still somewhere else, somewhere he didn’t want to be.

***

The waters were calm down by the small lake she had taken to visiting. For the several days Marin had stayed at the king’s castle in Scotland, he had insisted she be given rooms and all the amenities any other royal is afforded but she came and went like the wind. Blowing through the doors when the breeze picks up and leaving just the same.

Marin had felt restless in the confines of the castle, she always did as long as she’d known John but it was more to do with how she’d been raised in the open room of nature than anything he had done. It had been worse the entire day though. Which usually meant something was coming or shifting. Marin had walked along the line of the lake for several silent minutes, watching the flow of the water and how far she could see of it.

Eventually her body calmed and her head lightened. She walked toward the water and stooped down to dip her fingers in. As her hand left the water and that which she had gathered into her palm fell back to the source, her mind went dark and then almost immediately the light was back on and a haze was clearing. Marin watched on intently, looking, to anyone else, as though she were staring stark out into the night. When she’d finally blinked and sighed, having been freed of her vision she smiled softly to herself.

“The king is in conflict, choose wisely young prince. For this may decide the future of us all.” Marin sat back on her legs and closed her eyes. Her sleeve covered arms rose and her hands danced fluidly in the air weaving signs and patterns for a short time before she let them fall to her side and opened her eyes. She expelled one long breath and paused. Another followed then she stopped. One more came after that, and then another after that and she continued until there was a soft mist escaping her lips every time she breathed out one of those deep breaths.

The temperature responded, dropping drastically since Marin had started, so much so that there was a chilling mist riding the surface of the lake and moisture had settled on everything around. Slowly but surely the druid woman rose to her feet and regarded for a short moment the work she had done, while sending out her prayers that the outcome she hoped for was the one they all gained.

Marin turned about then and took off back to the castle, her skirts and cape swishing about her as she moved silently yet briskly through the night.

***

He shivered as he unconsciously tugged, pulling the blankets closer in to completely cover his half naked body as protection from the cold. There were goose pimples rising over his skin and he trembled with every blast of ice cold wind that blew over him like chilling breaths. Derek turned over, his body almost writhing beneath his sheets in discomfort as it fought outside while his mind fought within to maintain some level of control over the dreams that constantly ran away with him.

It was another setting like it usually was but the same main idea. He caught a glimpse of something in the distance, something that intrigued him and in his effort to seek it out, he became the prey being hunted by and eventually swallowed up by the green eyes. Wolf’s eyes. This time he’d been swimming in a lake he didn’t recognize. Somehow though, he didn’t care to know any more than he was free and enjoyed it. As he’d turned he saw the small flashes of light. The familiar hues that sent him in search of the source every time.

“Who are you?” he might call but there was never any response. Derek swam hard and fast to the direction where he’d seen it but there was nothing there. There never was. And just like that he’d turn his head to find that he was being watched by the same ever patient ever silent green eyes. They would disappear and reappear closer and closer until they were close enough to swallow him whole. He jerked out of bed, eyes scarlet, fangs elongated and claws raking at his mattress. The sheets were torn to shreds and littered the surface of the bed. Derek slowly came back to himself over a course of deep calming breaths. Breaths that became shaky and chattered as the cold became even more acknowledged with him awake.

He stepped out of the bed and walked quickly to the windows, shutting the frosted glass before slipping into his shirt and robe. He was walking before he knew what he was doing and ended up in the tower before he knew where he was headed. The familiar path did more to keep him from actually considering the gravity of him visiting his royal prisoner in the middle of the night. He walked that way so many times he didn’t actually have to think about it. And why would he want to. He’d visited the young prince more times than any other in his position would find acceptable. If his father were alive…

He stopped that train of thought before he stopped himself and turned around because if he were being honest he couldn’t help but go after Stiles. He wasn’t certain why but somehow he always got something from their little visits, even when the highlander had no idea Derek was even there. The king sighed as he wondered just what he was really doing and why he couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to, which he realized he didn’t want to in the least.

It wasn’t long before he was standing in front of the prince’s room in the tower. And so he remained, for a long while, standing there and listening to what was going on, on the other side of the door. It seemed much less cold down here, and he could hear the steady breathing of the sleeping prince. His heart rate was slower than when he was awake and a soft comfort the king found though he couldn’t begin to explain why. He leaned forward and rested his head against the door frame and listened for as long as he would allow himself before he pulled the key out of his pocket. The key he’d taken from the night guard, and slipped it quietly into the hole before turning it and pushing the door open.

As he stepped inside, Stiles stirred for a moment but seemed generally undisturbed in his sleep. The candle to the side of his bed flickered in the fresh breeze that traveled into the room when the door opened casting dark, mysterious character shadows across the princes’ face. He wore his trousers and shirt to bed while the blankets covered only his feet. He lay on his back with his head tipped to one side exposing his throat and the sight made Derek almost purr with a possessive curiosity he dared not explain to himself.

He walked forward into the room to the side of the bed where the night stand stood with the candle atop it. His footfalls were almost non-existent as he moved as silently as he could to the candle. As he stood before it, the king bent low, eyes examining the sleeping prince before he turned to the candle and blew it out. He turned around and began walking away but was stopped almost immediately by the change in Stiles heart-rate. His body froze mid-step, while he waited, waited for…

“You seem to be making it a habbit…” came the soft raw voice of the newly awakened prince. Derek closed his eyes as he took it in. The sound seemed so… so… there wasn’t a word he wanted to use to describe it but it was meaningful.

“What’s it?” he questioned as he turned around to catch Stiles looking at him. His head had turned the other way to watch the retreating king. When Derek had responded, Stiles pulled himself up slightly so that he was almost sitting upright. His arms stretched outward as he yawned and Derek couldn’t help but spy the sliver of skin that peaked out from beneath the shirt as it rose slightly over his stomach.

“Hmmm visiting your prisoners, or is it just me that you find it necessary to see personally so often?” the prince countered with resigned interest.

“I…” he started but realized he didn’t quite have a rehearsed answer prepared. “I… am the alpha, I find it necessary to do many things myself, including checking in on as important a guest as you are. After all, I did mean my words. I intend to see that you are kept well and in the best of health and while I can resolve to keep you safe not all of my subjects may find themselves capable of caring for the Scottish prince therefore, it is best that I make rounds on you privately to ensure you aren’t… coming to any harm.”

Stiles remained silent for a moment, seemingly a bit shocked at Derek’s response. He sighed deeply as he turned away and looked out the window near the bed. “Well you’ve seen for yourself then, I’m fine. You can go now. Besides Danny will keep me safe.”

Derek cleared his throat to mask the soft rumble that escaped at the mention of Danny. “I beg your pardon,” he gave bitterly.

“Lord Cromwell will do his job and keep me from harm as it is what you pay him for. So you needn’t worry about me.”

“You seem to have developed quite the relationship with Cromwell now haven’t you.” The words were spat out almost jealously earning Derek an incredulous look from Stiles.

“I see a handful of people every day, you see to that, it would only make sense to have some form of relation with them, if only to ensure my own well being when I cannot truly trust my captor to do so himself. Not as long as I am his prisoner here. Besides Lord Boyd seems to be as kind as lord Cromwell is so you don’t have to get any ideas about the kind of relationship I share with Daniel.”

“I wasn’t,” he started but Stiles pinned him with a disbelieving eye that shut him up. “Fine as long as all is well here that’s all that matters to me.”

“You know, I never would have thought that one day I would be trapped in the English king’s tower as a spoil of war.” Derek winced at Stiles words, somehow offended by them.

“You aren’t a spoil of war. This is a delicate situation and I am handling it as best as I can. There are no easy choices here.” He expelled a harsh breath as Stiles looked away from him again. “You seem to be doing well enough though, sleeping better than I am at least.”

Stiles jerked back toward him as he said it. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing of importance to you.”

“Tell me.”

“Why?”

“Because looks can deceive. Not all that appears to be truly is as it seems.”

Derek thought about it for a while before he turned away and started walking off. “You should get some rest, apologies for disturbing your sleep.”

He was almost to the door when he felt the hand on his shoulder, turning him around. Derek reacted instinctively. He grabbed the hand and as he turned pinned it to the wall above the prince’s head as he pushed the man roughly against the wall. Their bodies pressed hard against each other as they stared into the other’s eyes, wolf’s eyes. Derek’s fierce and crimson and Stiles’ an enigmatic emerald. It took Derek a full minute to realize he was panting shallowly while he looked into the eyes that haunted his dreams for so long.

“Your eyes, how are they this c...”

“Unhand me you brute,” Stiles jerked forcing his body to grind into Derek’s making the man shudder. The reaction took him by surprise and he immediately let go of the young prince and backed away from him, losing his train of thought to a more destructive instinctual emotion.

“I’m sorry. You shouldn’t approach a warrior that way, ever it’s not… I should go.”

“Wait.” Stiles called but stopped himself from advancing as his body seemed to do automatically.

“What is it?” Derek asked taking a step forward, so that they were closer, maybe even too close for comfort. Derek cold feel Stiles body heat and Stiles could feel the warm breath escaping Derek’s lips on his skin. They stared at each other silently for a long time before Stiles shook his head slowly.

“Never mind. You should go.” Derek was immobile for a moment before he nodded and turned away leaving the prince alone in his room with his thoughts and his arousal.

 

 


	6. Between a Rock and a Hard Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes it's been a while with this one. For that I sincerely apologize. Work is a bitch when it wants to and busy season opened up a few months ago. Anyway I am back to working on my stories and keeping them updated as quickly as I can so bear with me. Hopefully this one is no disappointment to you guys.  
> Enjoy

A swish and swirl of robes danced around her as Marin Morrell made her way into the throne room of Edinburgh castle where the king was just barely capping his rage at having received the letter he was reading. The letter he kept reading over and over until his face was red and the veins along his neck and temple pulsed with the adrenaline laced blood that made him want to rip things apart.

“My lord,” she said in that eerily calm and slightly complacent tone she often used.

“It is as you said. They have sent word finally.” He paced back and forth in front of her as he continued to narrate while flailing the letter around in his hand. “Perhaps I should be relieved as one of my men suggested but tell me how I can be relieved to know that my only son. The love of my life and center of my world, my only heir and future king of scots and Irishmen is in the hands of the son of that power hungry, crazed conqueror William. Look at the boy’s actions. He is carrying on just as his father did. I hear whispers of alliances he is forming and plans to march on the remaining nations his father had yet to take. How can I be hopeful when my Germin is in the hands of Derek Hale.” As he finished on an elevated tone, the room quieted and all eyes fell on Marin as the king’s did.

For a moment of complete silence she regarded him as a mother did a child who had no patience and got themself hurt trying to take something out of turn. “As I have said before John,” she uttered his name softer than she said anything else, “It is how one responds to a situation that can mean the difference between success and failure. Yesterday you had no idea besides my word that your son was still alive, now you have confirmation from his captor himself.” She raised a hand and then opened her palm expectantly, waiting for him to hand her the letter which she took with eager curiosity.

“Marin the man was a monster. How am I to believe his son could be any different. How do I know Stiles is being treated fairly, or well at all? He could be tortur…” the king trailed off not wanting to finish that specific train of thought.

“My king,” she rested a soft gentle palm on the king’s arm and squeezed it lightly. Her bright smile did something to lift his spirits as she followed through with words of encouragement. “Derek Hale is nothing like his father was. His father wasn’t even all that bad of a king or a man in his earlier days. That however is a tale for another time. My point is. The new alpha king is smart and he has intelligent advisors to guide his way. He wouldn’t keep your son alive this long without deciding on a purpose and possible outcome to which the prince’s continued living could suit. Furthermore it would serve contrary efforts to hurt the young prince if he is meant to be useful leverage in any way. Fear not. Germin is well I am sure of it.”

“Can we not refer to my son as though he were merely some idle thing to be used for barter and trade...?”

“I only seek to indicate fact. I am sure though that he is well,” she responded kindly.

“Have you had another seeing then, will you tell me what it showed you, in detail.” His eagerness for some morsel of information concerning the well-being of his child made Marin feel even more for the king but she shook her head.

“My people didn’t become as knowledgeable and strong as we are by relying on visions alone. There are other ways to learn what is needed to be learned. I’m sure a king could agree.” She scanned the letter as she turned away from him, giving him her back as she read.

“What are you saying lady?” he queued, brows arching in his piquing interest.

“Simply that more than one avenue has to be journeyed in order to achieve a certain outcome my king.” The words were called from over shoulder.

“Speak plainly with me Lady Marin, how often must I express my distaste for the riddles of the druid people you all seem so fond of trading in. I swear there must be a compulsory training for children of your order.” John stepped forward and grasped her quickly with a hand on her arm and turned her around. Marin moved as he pulled and turned to face him, her face an mask of slight concentration mixed with a weariness he knew was aimed at him and the hand he’d placed on her arm to turn her to him. The hand that felt slightly numb and tingled simultaneously. The king released her almost immediately as a man catching himself in the middle of a mistake.

“I speak the way I think. My lord,” she breathed. Her face was upturned to him in a proud manner as she stared into his eyes. Something happened then, something that made him feel very small as he stared back into her own eyes. Dark pools seemed to shimmer and come alive as she looked into him. And that was what it felt like, like she was looking inside him, sifting through more than his mind but his soul. Seeing things she shouldn’t see without his permission but it was he who’d authorized her eyes to look that way when he’d put his hand on her to begin with. His breathing became forced and increasingly ragged. “You bear much John, more than most men ever bear in their lifetimes. It is required of you to be burdened as a king of men. You are even more so burdened by the life your son was handed but you endure.”

He took a step away and pondered on her words. She always seemed to say so much more than she actually said. “Apologies lady Marin. This entire situation puts me on edge and it is wearing on my very sanity.”

“A king doesn’t apologize,” she said but it seemed like a challenge.

“A bad king does not apologize. A good king recognizes that fault may lie with him as it does with any other man.”

“Indeed.” She paused a moment before she continued. “I have a friend in the midst of King Derek. A friend who will keep an eye on your son as long as it is required. This information I do not give lightly so respect that I have shared one of my secrets with you. There has never been any pretense between us John so I need your trust. Not just the words but the belief that I will help you because I have yours and Germin’s best interests at heart.

“Who...” Marin held up a hand as John began to ask.

“Faith requires a lack of evidence otherwise it would not be faith at all and this is what I require. Can you trust me?”

John watched her for a minute, a second and then a third in silence but she never relinquished the powerful stare she’d settled on him. The king nodded then, remaining silent should she decide to speak again, and she did.

“Good. Then a response to this letter is of the utmost importance. It is as we discussed. You must demand proof of your son’s well-being. Request that a party of men be allowed to meet Prince Germin and ensure that he is being well kept. Do not indicate whether or not you will be attending them. Have it sent immediately, I trust you will know what to say.”

She turned to leave but he called out for her. Marin turned back at the door to wait for his words. “Will you not stay to see what I have written to verify it is what should be written?”

“If you can trust me to help you see your son returned, then I can trust you with this. I must make leave there are some things I must see prepared. Be well King John Stilinski. And if you have need of me send word. I will be here.” He sighed and nodded his agreement then watched her leave his presence. He stared at the empty doorway for a long time before he called for the servants to bring him his seal and parchment to word his response.

***

“Fucking dignitaries never seem to know their place!” Derek exclaimed as he pulled up alongside Vernon who’d been silently making his way down to Stiles’ chambers in the tower.

Lord Boyd narrowed his eyes and in a small voice spoke. “Perhaps you should cut their visit short my lord if it displeases you so.” Derek simply grunted at the idea and turned his attention to something else. The sound of a voice could be picked up by their enhanced hearing as they approached the door. It called out groupings of rhyming words that sounded like poetry. The accompaniment of the voice, with a cadence and tone so unexplainably right, made what was being read sound like subtle perfection. Derek had no doubt that anything that was read by that voice would be perceived by any and all who heard though he wasn’t about to admit that aloud, far less to himself.  

Boyd stopped short of the door and knocked, a gesture of respect however pretentious it may have been considering the status of the man who lived on the other side. “Come,” Cromwell called. The other voice, the voice Derek knew belonged to the one wolf in all of time and space he couldn’t seem to rid himself of, at least mentally, didn’t skip a note as Stiles continued reading. When the two men entered Stiles sat on his bed cross legged in the center with a book splayed on his thighs. Cromwell stood a ways from him with arms folded across his chest. His eyes lazed over Stiles a long moment. Much longer than it should have in Derek’s mind. He internally noted that the way Danny seemed to be constantly watching Stiles pissed him off very much. When the guard finally turned his attention to the now open door, Danny straightened up immediately and bowed. “My king, lord Boyd.”

“Oh far be it for me interrupt your story telling time Cromwell. No need to attend me or Lord Boyd. Why don’t you take a seat while you’re at it, why don’t we all Lord Boyd? Then we can attentively listen to young Germin Stilinski as he regales us with his favorite literature.” The king bit out the words as the fresh flow of irritation settled on him. His eyes darted from Daniel to Stiles who’d finally stopped reading at the beginning of the king’s rant. Somehow though, the absence of the young man’s voice irritated him further.

“Do not be an arse.” The statement was pointed and shot at the king as if an arrow from a bow.

“I beg your pardon.” Derek barked.

“You heard me. Do not be an arse. You’ve given me chambers and declared I be treated with the respect befitting me as royalty then bring your frustrations to my chamber and insult both me and my friend, the friend **you** decided I should have, mind you.” Stiles spoke his mind unrestrained though he seemed to have a measure less fire to his words than he usually did where Derek was concerned.

The king’s brows arched. “Look who is beginning to show his sense of entitlement once more.”

“Not entitlement. I simply request that a king act as kings are meant to and kings do not go back on their word when their mood is less than agreeable. Lest they be considered men without honor.” Stiles looked up then and chocolate brown met hazel green eyes and in that instant it was like a jolt of energy was sent through that contact and tingled its way down Derek’s spine.

He looked away immediately, eyes blinking and nose flaring as he settled himself and capped his restless irritation. “You are right in this I suppose. I apologize for the insult then.”

“My father always said a good king accepts that fault lies with him as it does with any other man,” Stiles nearly whispered the words but all the men caught it.

“That was dangerously close to a compliment prince Germin.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re still an arse.”

“You’d do well to heed your own advice,”

“My unique position allows for a bit of breathing room I would think. After all I am still a prisoner here. My iron chains have simply transformed into that of silks and cotton.” He gestured to the sheets beneath him and clothing he wore. “To what do I owe the displeasure,” he lied with an air of disinterest. It had been a few days since Derek’s visit to Stiles’ room in the dark of night. He’d thought about everything that had happened between them constantly and many times over. He felt something, he knew he felt something, and there was no denying it. He’d spent his life learning honesty and honor above all things and didn’t want to go against his own nature by pretending all he had between the king and himself was hatred. But he dared not define the small bit of ‘something’ that lay between them so very obviously.

Stiles looked up to Derek, a soft, half-focused gaze under thick lashes that made the king avert his eyes when they’d met once more. Boyd turned to Derek who regarded him questioningly. “Would you like to tell him majesty? Or shall I?” Derek blinked back the momentary disorientation and turned back to face Stiles with a reserved smile.

“Germin, a messenger has been sent to your father letting you know that you are safe here with me at the moment. I imagine he must have been so worried all this time.”

“Are you saying that until now you’ve sent no word to my father that I was even alive?” Stiles demanded. Anger welled up inside him for the pain his father must have endured just not knowing.

“You forget little prince,” Derek snapped back, “we are warring nations. I owed your father nothing. I owed you nothing. In fact you owe me now for the life you retain. The life your father forfeited when he killed mine. Blood for blood. But you yet live, be thankful it’s in luxury and not in chains or a coffin for that matter.”

“Do you want me to thank you? Because if that is what you’re waiting for you can keep waiting for the rest of your days. I would gladly die if it meant being free of you and the noose I know you’re trying to tie around Scotland,” Stiles spat out as his rage welled up to a boiling point.

“So dramatic…”

“My king,” Boyd interrupted, pausing to see how Derek would react to his intervention. The king took a breath and turned to face him. He’d come to trust Boyd’s judgment so quickly others may have thought it was sorcery. “Perhaps we should inform prince Germin of our intent. He is after all an intelligent young man, he’s bound…”

“To figure things out already, if he hasn’t as yet,” Derek turned back to Stiles. “I agree, thank you Lord Boyd. Germin Stilinski, you will remain here as a ward of England, my ward indefinitely, as I negotiate the joining of our two countries into one state governed by me.”

“If all you wanted was power why don’t just threaten my death to…” but he realized exactly what he was saying was exactly what was happening, simply in a much more subtle manner. A means to achieve a more favorable end free of rash decisions and hot tempers. Stiles closed his mouth and looked away toward the open window. The action killed Derek’s smile and brought a frown to his brow.

“I expect a response from your father soon. I will of course keep you informed of his decisions and your fate.”

“May we have a moment alone?” Stiles requested, still looking away.

Boyd looked to Derek and Danny placed a hand on Stiles shoulder which drew Derek’s attention. His grimace forced Daniel to relinquish his hold on Stiles and step back. Stiles nodded to Danny who still awaited some assurance that he should leave.

“Leave us,” Derek said and waited silently until they were gone. When the door closed behind Boyd as he exited Stiles looked to Derek.

“Will you allow me a message to my father?”

“No,” Derek wasted no time denying the request. “That is out of the question.”

“Do you want me to beg because I won’t, not to you.”

“It would do you no good even if you did.” He didn’t add that the thought of Stiles on his knees before the king of England made him vibrate with eager anticipation for a host of reasons that had nothing to do with diplomacy or pride.

“He is my father. The last I saw of him was when he fell on the battlefield, wounded and in danger. I am a prisoner here, please. Allow me a message just a few words.”

Derek silently watched the prince as he made his case. Part of him wanted to agree though he knew he could not. Not for his country or his pride. “No, that is my final word on this. Do not ask it again.” Derek turned then to make his leave.

“You are a monster,” Stiles whispered. Derek’s eye twitched at the word but he didn’t respond right then. Instead he turned around and walked toward the defeated young prince. When he stood before him he bent over slightly and cupped Stiles’ chin in thumb and forefinger, raising it until glowing red eyes met Stiles’ brown ones.

“You have no idea who I am or what I am capable of. You do not know me.”

“Nor do I want to,” he pulled away from Derek’s touch and turned away, sitting so that he gave the king his back. He pulled his book back toward him and focused on that instead leaving Derek behind him to silently make his exit.

 


	7. Possession

“And perhaps we can use more of the flowers within. I want a bright wedding to signify the reign we will share for the people.” She turned her head to look at him and again caught his gaze lost in the distance, his mind far, far away from the here and now.  “My lord,” she called on him, but there was no response. “Derek!” Lydia tried again, her hand touching his shoulder gently. Immediately his own hand shot up and grabbed at her wrist, a knee-jerk reaction. The king blinked and looked down at her, bringing her hand to his lips to place a chaste kiss there before releasing it.

“I am sorry my dear, my mind I’m afraid ran away with me for a moment.”

“A moment,” Peter chimed in, “you’ve been retreating into your head for the entire morning. Is all well with you nephew?”

Derek turned to find Isaac and Boyd looking at him as well, curiously if nothing else. “I assure you all I am well. As a king there is much to consider, much to think about…” he trailed off as something caught his attention. His eyes pinned to the flash of green he’d seen in the perimeter. A flash that resembled to an unsettling degree, the emerald eyes of the young prince he’d been unable to stop thinking about. The glittering though didn’t come from wolf’s eyes but from a necklace around the neck of some highborn woman making her way through the vast dining hall.

“True a king’s work is never done but if you get lost in the vast expanse of your own mind in pondering such things there may not be much hope for you at all young king.” Derek regarded Peter with a hollow stare before turning back to his bride to be.

“What were you saying my darling,” he took a few grapes in hand, ate one and slipped one between her lips. She took it willingly but kept an eye on him.

“Only that I wish for a wedding the world will recount for thousands of years.”

“Then that you shall have.” He dipped his head as he cupped her chin in thumb and forefinger. His lips grazed hers softly and then more firmly. Lydia allowed herself to be consumed by the kiss and for a solid moment Derek did too. He heard the soft moan of contentment she tried to stifle and he smiled against her lips. When he pulled away gently and opened his eyes, he didn’t flinch at the sight before him. Glorious transcendant beauty embodied by a young prince staring back at him with eyes of honeyed caramel that becoming the most piercing green when he let his wolf out. The young prince smiled at him and he gasped. The only indication of his shock. “You…” _shouldn’t be here,_ he meant to say but Stiles leaned in, took possession of his mouth and silenced him successfully as Derek simply allowed the action. His hand came up to the prince’s face and his mouth moved aggressively against the younger’s.

“Alright lovebirds that’s enough,” Peter called, rapping his knuckles on the table. Lydia pulled away from him giggling softly. Her face was flushed as she regarded the king who looked back at her dazed and slightly confused though he recovered quite quickly. It took him no time to realize he’d been dreaming of someone else and as bitter as he knew it should make him, the memory, as fabricated as it were was more than welcome.

“Perhaps we should move up the wedding, someone’s desire for me seems to have flared beyond that which we normally share. I couldn’t possibly ask him to hold out for too long. To lay claim to the body of his woman.” Lydia laughed as she turned away from Derek to give attention to Isaac as he addressed her.

“Well who could blame him with a woman as destructively enchanting as yourself.”

“Exactly,” Derek smiled, forcing it to look as real as it needed to be before taking up his goblet and throwing back a harsh gulp of wine.

“My lord, I have some business with my family to attend to. By your leave of course I shall make my way to my home and take care of this swiftly.” Boyd, as usual, spoke to the point and without pretense as he addressed the king. His voice never ticked or dipped and he maintained eye contact.

“Who then will liaise with our prisoner Lord Boyd?” Derek queued.

“I was to suggest you do so my king.”

Derek’s eyes widened at the suggestion. He took another swig of his wine before he replied. “Me. I am the king of England and the allied European empire why would I stop anything else I am meant to oversee to personally deal with the Scottish prince?” His tone was petulant, plaintive as though it would be a chore to be placed in such a situation.

“Well I shall return shortly my lord but I thought it would be your desire to see to the prisoner at this particular moment in time. We have yet to inform him his father’s envoy is presently en route. I thought it would please you to personally oversee their time spent here, especially when that envoy arrives. Nothing should get past you and it would weigh heavily on how the prisoner is received by his people to have you there as well. Besides you will best be able to set the rules of engagement if you are there yourself.” Boyd sipped his own wine and casually turned his attention away from the king to something else in the distance.

“Derek, son, forget this business I shall handle it in Boyd’s absence.” Peter proclaimed but Derek raised a hand to stop him.

“No. Lord Boyd is right. I shall take care of this myself.” The king sounded pensive as he spoke but no one put any stock into his tone. He quickly turned to Lydia and took her hand in his. Bringing it to his mouth, he placed a gentle kiss on her knuckles and looked her in the eye. “My dearest, I shall take my leave now, but rest assured all will be as you desire. Nothing about this wedding will ever be forgotten, this I promise you.”

She smiled at him and nodded in agreement. “Lord Boyd you are quite free to make your voyage but I expect you shall deal with whatever matters you must attend expediently, I need you here.”

“Of course, majesty,” Boyd responded with a bow of his head.

“Uncle, we shall speak again later, Isaac come with me please.” Peter bowed his head as well while Isaac rose and followed Derek as he made his exit.

*

“Leave us,” Stiles commanded when he saw Daniel enter the room. The two servants who were making themselves busy with cleaning the chambers quickly picked up their things and left the two nobles to their privacy. “You’ve been gone a while.”

“Not that long, besides I have heard news. I expect someone will be coming to inform you at some point.” Danny closed the door behind the servants and settled himself on the bed in front of Stiles who’d turned around to face him. He looked on intently and expectantly waiting for Danny to say what he had heard.

“There is a contingent of men on their way here from Scotland.” He paused dramatically to await Stiles reaction to the news.

“What!” The prince’s hands flailed about as he tried to rein in his anxiety. “How many men do you know? Are they coming to fight for me?” He almost sounded hopeful even though he already knew the answer to that question.

“Sadly no, they are coming to ensure that you are safe and taken care of…” Danny stopped when Stiles’ face fell. “You seem disappointed.”

“No, it is only because I do wish to be free of this place,” the prince relented.

“I understand but you are the one who told me it would be wise for your father to avoid war if there was an alternative.”

“Oh truly, did I say that…”

“Yes you did. Do not despair just yet. There is still time for things to move in your favor my prince.” Daniel smiled at him and there was a hint of something in his eyes that worried Stiles a bit.

“You shouldn’t address me in such a way. If anyone ever heard you there would be…”

“If anyone ever found out I was bringing you information from beyond these walls it would be my head on a pike. Yet I take the risk because it is for you.” The man spoke the words as if they so easily explained everything away. That in itself opened something else up to Stiles that he’d spent an awful lot of time ignoring. Now with so much time on his hands he found he couldn’t do so any more.

“But why?” he queried, digging deeper into the matter. “Why for me?”

“Why not for you?” Danny responded confused.

“It has been the same everywhere I go my entire life. People swaying their allegiances toward me. Doing things I wouldn’t ask them to do no matter the personal cost, all for me and I don’t understand why. I am nothing special.”

Danny reached out and took Stiles by the shoulders, holding him firmly there so he could hold the man’s gaze. “Do not ever deny yourself again. You are a rare creature in a world filled with the ordinary. You are much more special than I have ever encountered and I know I would do all that I could for you no matter what because when something that special comes along, you protect it.” They looked into each other’s eyes for a moment before Stiles leaned into Daniel who wrapped his arms around the young prince and held him tightly.

They had barely heard the door open when Daniel and Stiles were ripped apart and Derek had the guard pinned up against a wall by his throat. Red eyes gleamed and fangs extended to full length before the man, as he gasped for a clean breath. Claws dug into Danny’s neck while he grabbed futilely at Derek’s wrist to try and pry the hand off of him.

“What in the deepest hell are you doing…” Stiles yelled, lunging forward his own eyes shifting to that haunting emerald color. Before he got far Isaac was there wolfed out and barring his way to the king and his victim. Isaac pushed at the prince’s chest to back him away. Stiles growled in response, shifting his eyes from the man barring his way to the man about to choke Danny to death.

“In case you have forgotten your place Cromwell let me remind you. You are nothing that I did not make you. You court and wed who I decide and you certainly do not turn your eyes upon anything that belongs to me as the young prince does.” There was a swift intake of breath from both Isaac and Stiles at the declaration and what some may have mistaken it for despite what Derek may have meant. “And you,” the king turned his head to pin his glare onto the object of his frustrations. “do not presume that you can carry on any way you feel with any one that interests you. You are mine.”

“Yours?” Stiles coughed.

“My lord,” Isaac murmured looking back curiously at the king.

“My…ward, my charge and responsibility. I will not allow your willfulness to put my rule or my plans in peril.”

“I belong to no man, least of all a brute like you now release him!” Stiles roared. Derek blinked rapidly in reaction. His eyes faded to their natural hazel green shades and his brow furrowed in confusion. He quickly regained his exposure and as he did so released Daniel who fell limply to the ground. Isaac dropped his hand and shifted back as Stiles moved quickly to Danny on the floor. His hands inspected the man’s throat as it healed slowly from the wounds inflicted by the alpha. Derek watched on, his chest rising and falling heavily in an effort to regain complete control of his rage. A rage that flared up without warning the minute he saw Stiles in the arms of Daniel. In his head he admitted that the relationship they seemed to be growing, had quickly started to irk him beyond reasoning but now he was afraid his response might have been the same no matter who Stiles was clinging onto. His mind was tumultuous with doubt, confusion and anger and he didn’t want to have to deal with any of it. He side glanced his friend who was giving him weird looks. Derek sighed and stepped away from the two on the floor.

“Are you…”

But Danny stilled the prince’s ministrations with a steady hand. “Apologies my king. I shall not allow this to happen again.” Stiles regarded the man angrily as he spoke. Confused by his words as he was, Stiles remained silent. He accepted that he may only put Danny in more danger and he didn’t want that. Derek nodded and sighed again.

“It was not my intent for all this unpleasantness. My goal here was to inform the young prince of a new development.” He looked down to Stiles who glared back at him. The action only served to soften the king’s gaze. “An envoy from your father is on their way here to assess your current state. You should be receiving them later this evening. Please see to it that you are well dressed and prepared for their arrival.”

Stiles didn’t respond to him, or even look at him anymore. He turned his head and simply waited until the king took Isaac and left the room in a huff of annoyance.

He had been content with following the man just about anywhere but the questions gnawing at Isaac’s insides wouldn’t allow it. His mouth opened every few seconds as they moved along the dark hallways of the tower but closed again just as quickly. He knew Derek well. Years of friendship had created such an occurrence so he knew there was a lot more going on than a man, pridefully concerned with his authority being challenged. “Derek can I ask a question?”

“You just did my friend,” the king shot back without stopping or turning. His voice held that tone of distance Isaac knew meant the man was half there and half somewhere else in his head. Of course Isaac at that point was willing to bet he knew exactly what the king thought about so often recently that he tuned himself out completely from what was going on around him.

“Two questions then…” Isaac shot back eyeing the man from the side. There was no response that time which only mean that Derek had become so taken up with his own thoughts he’d just stopped listening. “My lord?” Isaac tried again.

“Hmm,”

“Questions?”

“Oh just get on with it then man,” Derek huffed.

“What just happened there, in that room?” Isaac noticed immediately Derek faltering, missing a half step in their movements even though he didn’t stop. Even though he continued on and composed his face into that carefully crafted mask of impassive disinterest that Isaac knew so well. It was the face the king wore when he tried to conceal all emotion. When he tried to bluff or win a wager or pretend he wasn’t in pain or even that he felt nothing at all. It wouldn’t work though because he knew that face.

“What exactly do you speak of friend?” The familiar calm and collected tone asked the question.

“I’m referring to you nearly beheading one of your own men, a nobleman and in the same line of action, claiming a wolf that is not the princess of Denmark.” Isaac spoke matter-of-factly so it sounded like he was remaining objective in an effort to bypass what he assumed would be Derek’s natural first reaction to being called out on his bullshit, and that was anger.

“Come on man,” he sighed, “I needed to ensure that my position wasn’t being challenged and that little bastard Cromwell has been asking for it for quite some time now.”

“How so?”

“He just… has. He’s been… doing things he shouldn’t, things that anger me…”

“Like getting close to prince Germin,” Isaac slipped in quickly.

“Preci.. what, no, no” Derek stopped then. Halting in the quiet long stretch of hall to try and gain some measure of ease with his breathing that was becoming ragged or the rage that was fueling a loss of control on his wolf. He breathed until his breaths faded into the silence that surrounded them. Isaac stopped and waited for him patiently to respond. He refused to let his eyes stray from Derek’s so he could pick up any lies the king tried to tell. “No, not because of.. that. I wanted them to develop some relationship just…”

“Just not a romantic one.”

“Exactly. I can’t have one of my men in some kind of love game with one of my enemies. Not to mention my best chance at bringing Scotland to heel.” The explanation wasn’t a bad one. In fact had Isaac not known Derek all that well, had he not grown up with the man and learned as he watched the now king of England learn how his heart works. Had he not seen the man develop a method to dealing with each individual aspect of his life, he might have believed for a moment what he was saying. But he had, he had done and seen and learned all those things about a man he’d call his closest friend so he didn’t hesitate to finish calling him out in the most subtle way he knew how.

“You see the way I see it, friends embrace each other all the time. Their behavior seemed platonic to me. Either way if they get involved in something you don’t approve of perhaps almost killing the man wasn’t the best way to leave him a warning.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying old friend, that I know you. You’re interested in the prince.” Isaac made it a statement rather than a question which meant he wasn’t planning on arguing the point he’d already decided was more fact than fiction.

“Preposterous,” Derek offered as he turned and continued walking.

Isaac smiled at the incredible amount of offense he heard in the tone that was jam-packed with incredulity and a hint of force. “Derek you claimed him.”

“I claimed my prisoner. And even still, I am alpha king of a nation, everything under my rule belongs to me.”

Isaac scoffed. “I thought you didn’t want to be that kind of ruler.”

“I may have to be if people like Daniel Cromwell decide they can help themselves to anything and anyone they want. Courting a noble requires my permission least of all my highborn ward.” Derek’s complaints began to sound petty and childish mirrored by the sound of his voice as he spoke.

“Actually a proposition of marriage requires your permission, however I know what I know and you can deny it all you want but I have already seen it in you. You are attracted to something of the little Scottish spitfire and if you would basically duel another for him and then lay claim to him, I dare not declare my assessment of just how deep these feelings run. Especially when you are soon to wed Denmark’s next queen.”

“You are stumbling into dangerous territory my friend. I no longer wish to continue this conversation anyway.”

“As you say my lord, however may I leave you with one final word?”

“If you must,” the wolf king growled.

“When you are weary of counseling yourself on these matters while your fiancé is trying to discuss wedding plans, do not hesitate to turn to your friend. This is the purpose of our friendship primarily, is it not?” Derek didn’t answer though he had looked like he was going to say something but must have changed his mind.

*

It had been nightfall when Boyd had finally arrived at his manor. He had dismissed his guard the moment the unseated his horse and entered the house. For a nobleman with no extravagantly notable achievements or lineage his house was quite the sight. It was large building seated in the midst of a hedged garden with cobblestones on the ground leading to the front entrance. The windows were all adorned with heavy expensive fabrics fashioned into drapes. Carpets and rugs of all matching theme warmed the floors. Crystal and figurines decorated each room as large paintings drew the eye to the walls. Hand carved and polished furniture were the final additions to complete the home.

Boyd quickly made his way through the house and upstairs to the master bedroom. He instructed the servants outside to make ready supper, all so that they would busy themselves in a part of the house far away from his room where he needed the privacy for what he was about to do next. He locked the door behind him and fell to his knees at the side of his bed. Reaching underneath it, he pulled out an old chest that, by its color, one would have missed it even if one had looked under the bed.

Inside the chest were five crystals of different shapes and sizes. He placed them all in a small circle near the window. Rising to his feet, he moved to the window and pulled back the curtains so that moonlight spilled into the room and seemed to be pulled toward the crystals. Almost immediately they seemed to hum with with a resonating power that built and built until it was surging forward. In the center of the circle, moonlight thrust forth from within the crystals, each beam dancing together until they all blended and began to take form.

Vernon watched as the light formed into a silhouette that became more defined, expanding and sharpening until a woman stood in the center of the circle. Her head hooded and long skirts flowing about her feet. Boyd fell to his knees, “My lady of crystal I am your servant as always.”

“And a good one you’ve been,” The woman responded. “Rise child, tell me of the work you have done.”

“I toil to bring them together as you desire but forces drive them apart on all sides. The uncle Peter, pushes gracefully the king’s marriage to Lydia Martin and I have come to recognize she is a formidable opponent with a fearsome determination to have that which she desires. Right now that seems to be the king.”

“Seems to be?”

“Yes my lady. I have noticed a vacancy in her that comes with the loss of something. Perhaps if I can find out what it is I can rid ourselves of the dilemma she provides.”

“Remember Vernon it is not your purpose to eliminate their obstacles. Only to aid in facilitating their union. They shall do the rest.” Boyd nodded to the woman before she continued. “How fares the relationship between king and prince.

“The seeds are there my lady planted and watered as you taught me. The king clings to his pride and resolve while the prince clings to anger and despair. All that is left is to neutralize these emotions and they shall come together. If you are right their destiny shall lead them through with our help.”

The woman took a breath. Silvery glowing hands came up to pull the hood back revealing Marin’s face. She was as beautiful and as solemn as she’d ever been. High priestess of her people. Lady of the Crystal Cave. “They must or I fear the alternative will destroy us all. Return to the king’s side and whisper in his ear. Fight to give Germin some measure of freedom, find a way. If he is within Derek’s grasp, it will hasten the king’s desire to pluck him, like a fruit off a tree, ripe for the taking.”

“As you wish my lady.” Boyd bowed to the woman and with that she simply faded into nothingness as though her form had never been. 


	8. Dawning, Reluctance, Acceptance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's moving along now so the slow burn is turning into a sizzle. I hope you guys enjoy. More time is available for my writing now so hopefully I can get back to a steady schedule.

Stiles had been standing at the window for a long time. At least when he wasn’t pacing back and forth. He had bathed and dressed in one of the extravagant outfits the king had had sent to his chambers. He couldn’t eat in his anxiety so he’d passed on supper. His mind raced with thoughts. Who was coming, what they would say. What he would say. Danny had come and gone several times since the Derek incident, and even though he pretended to be fine, Stiles knew he was troubled by it. Who wouldn’t be. He could have been killed if Stiles hadn’t intervened which were all the words he refused to admit he was thinking to Stiles. So the prince had taken the liberty to air out Danny’s mind for him. The whole time Stiles spoke, his friend simply looked off in the distance, allowing for the occasional nod or grunt of understanding.

Eventually he merely smiled and repeated how fine everything was and that nothing had changed before excusing himself. Stiles had had to shove everything else on back burner when Danny returned with news that the Scottish envoy had arrived and would soon be brought in to see him.

“Will you relax a bit all that pacing is rather unsettling,” Danny chimed from where he’d perched against the wall near the door, arms folded across his chest with the fingers of one hand idly rubbing at his temple.

“Sorry, it’s just I…” Stiles blew out a harsh breath and forced himself to still again.

“I know, this is important, just try to remain calm, collected. Don’t want the king to think he gains some new hold on you if he sees you overreacting to whoever comes.”

Stiles scoffed and rolled his eyes so dramatically it looked like it took quite the effort. “That animal could never have any hold on me.”

“He claimed you Stiles,”

“It means nothing,”

“It means I was right in my original assessment of his interest in you.”

“It means you talk too much and think too much and should…” Danny had held up a hand to stop the talking. His head tilted to a side and his eyes glowed yellow for a moment.

“They’re coming,” he murmured as he pushed off the wall and closed the distance between himself and the young prince. He stood formally ahead of the man as though he were his bodyguard or something to that effect. Stiles hands fumbled with each other whilst he turned his attention to the door and the heavy footfalls he could hear from the other side of it now. He breathed deep and slow and waited and waited until he felt his hackles rising making him wonder if he had fully shifted. Just as quickly he pushed that thought aside when the door moved.

Derek entered the room, with Isaac and Peter at his side along with several members of his personal guard. The others waited for him to enter before he signaled them in. The men moved to form a circle around the room, planting themselves against every wall surface so that any and all of them could attack should the king wish it. The alpha king positioned himself in front of his young captive, watching him, taking him in. His face was a carefully placed mask as it often were in the best and worst of times. Stiles regarded him shallowly from behind the hollow protection of Daniel’s back.

Danny himself ducked and tilted his head to a side, baring his neck to placate the alpha he’d managed to anger every moment he spent in Stiles’ company. Derek glanced to the wolf once before turning his cool eye back on his ward. “Prince Germin,”

Stiles lifted his head belligerently as if the king had tried to ridicule him.

“Your father’s men are here to assess your well-being.” When Stiles made no other motions of acknowledgement the king smiled, a soft two-sided expression, then turned to the door, “Enter,” he called and stepped aside.

Stiles breath hitched in his throat when he saw the men that came through. The effect was caused by one in particular. One who’d had much of the same reaction. Stiles wasted no time in running toward the man leading the others into his fancy prison. Derek’s soldiers shifted aggressively but he held up a hand to halt them. Stiles threw himself into the Scottish man and embraced him so tightly he would have been afraid to break the man if he’d given a thought to anything other than his joy, relief and excitement for having seen his oldest and greatest friend. A man he’d sooner call brother than friend.

“Scott!” Scott McCall held him as tightly as he was being held. “I didn’t imagine father would send you to me…”

“Didn’t give him much of a choice I’m afraid. But there was no chance in all hell I was going to miss an opportunity to see you, make sure you were alright. I’m so sorry Stiles.” And the young prince could feel moisture spreading onto his shoulder from the tear soaked tunic he was wearing. Scott wept as he held his friend a testament to his regrets, his fear and his relief.

“What could you possibly be apologizing to me for?”

“Because I didn’t protect you, defend you. I should have stopped them from taking you. Brought you back home something… It was so fast, it all happened so fast..”

“Hey now,” Stiles said finally pulling away from Scott. He held him at the shoulders and gave him a light shake. “We fought in a war and there were casualties and losses and I got taken. There is nothing you could have done about that without most likely being killed yourself. So no apologies ok. I’m just glad you’re here.” Stiles hugged Scott once more and held onto him a bit longer this time.

Isaac turned his own head at the slight disturbing sound of growling and found his own friend, the king of England, baring lengthening fangs, claws and glowing red eyes. He stretched out a hand to grab the king’s arm just as he unconsciously stepped forward. Derek looked down at him in irritation and then found his hand with his eyes. Surprise lit his eyes when he noticed he’d partially shifted. The trigger had definitely been Stiles and Scott holding onto each other and now there was officially no more denying, at least to his friend what was going on inside him. Isaac was too intuitive to snow with some half assed explanation and if he were being completely honest, Derek wasn’t even sure he wanted to keep denying his feelings to himself anymore. The arrogance of royalty inside him pushed him to the thinking that there wasn’t any reason he couldn’t have what he wanted. And at the moment, what he wanted was for Stiles to stop grabbing onto any other man, at least for their own safety.

When Stiles finally pulled away he turned his attention to the men that had followed Scott in. There were several he recognized and a few he didn’t but he thanked them all for their journey considering how dangerous it had been walking into enemy territory without an army when it could have all been a trap. The men greeted their prince with bows and kisses of his hand as if he’d been a relic they’d made a pilgrimage to see.

“May I have a moment alone with my people?” Stiles called out, looking to Derek for an answer and refusing to refer to him with any formal or respectful titling. The king stared blankly back at him and didn’t respond. Stiles and Scott exchanged confused looks before Stiles turned back to the king. He stepped forward eyes flashing emerald. Just as he did a soldier rushed him, unsheathing his sword and thrusting the blade against the prince’s throat. Scott leapt into action along with all the other Scottish men but his savior had been the most unexpected.

One moment there was cool metal against his skin and a man there breathing down his neck explaining to him how he shouldn’t approach the king on the shift and the next the man was tossed against the far wall like so many rags. Stiles heard the sickening crack of the solder’s head smashing against the wall. The man’s sword had been freed from his hand and was now in the King’s grip. Derek moved at preternatural speed standing over the man with his own sword pointed tip to heart and pressing harshly against his chest. The king’s face was a dark storm complete with destructive lightning burning in his eyes.

“You. Do. Not. Move. Until. I. Command. It.” He gritted out through gnashing fangs so that every word sounded like a sentence on its own. “Am. I. Understood.”

The fallen warrior nodded his bleeding head furiously. Derek closed his eyes and breathed, calming himself so that his fangs and claws receded and his eyes went back to their natural hues of hazel green. Slowly, he turned around to face the others in the room. His own men avoided his eyes, looking on with faces of fear and determination. Even Peter looked confused while Isaac didn’t seem surprised at all. When the king looked to Stiles there was a relief from his normally tense and angry expression that made it so much easier for Derek to breathe easily. He found himself listening to the young prince’s heartbeat. It was surprisingly calm. He followed the sound of it, using the prince’s breathing to aid in his own, and his heartbeat to pattern his own beating heart to the pace.

“You were saying?”

There was a beat of silence following Derek’s words in which Stiles looked lost and confused, and then his face took on the usual contortion of unhappiness Derek seemed to evoke in him. “May I have some time alone with my people?”

“Clear the room,” Derek called out without skipping a beat. “There will be no plans of escape little prince.” He walked forward until he was almost too far into Stiles’ personal space to be referred to as acceptable formality but far enough away from the man that it couldn’t be called intimate. There was another word though that popped into the minds of many when Derek positioned himself so close to the young man. Possessive.

“I will not allow you to escape me. Please do not try, if only to ensure the continued safety of your people as they will be the ones who die when you are caught.” His eyes and voice were strained as he finished eking out his thoughts. His hand seemed forced to his side as though there was another place he’d like to put it, perhaps something he’d like to touch, caress. He wondered at that the moment he stopped talking and simply held the gaze of the Scottish prince. Watching his face, studying it the contours, the lines of bone and muscle. The softness of his flesh and pinking of his lips… With nothing further, the king exited the room after his men had left with Isaac and Peter on his heels.

“You heard him then,” Stiles announced once the king had cleared the room. He elevated his voice to address all the men. “Whatever you had planned, or were thinking of planning, forget it.”

“No Stiles, we can..” Scott tried but Stiles interrupted him.

“No Scott. Don’t even think about it. Whatever you’re thinking is never going to go smoothly not without us getting caught. And even if it works and I escape this castle all of you will die for it. No one is dying for me.”

“It is our duty to die for you, majesty,” one of the men interjected belligerently.

“It is your duty to follow my commands and I forbid any of you from trying to free me. Too many have suffered. I am the only one who is sure to survive the king right now and I will not risk any of your lives.”

“But King John…” another tried to pick up but Stiles silenced him with a stare.

“My father is not here. Furthermore as much as he would want me freed and safe back home in our lands he wouldn’t risk my life on a chance that I may make it all the way back to Scotland unseen. The odds are weighted against such an outcome. Am I understood!” It was not a question. Merely a command from a ruler to his people to enforce his word. The men all nodded and bowed. “Sit rest, your journey must have been long and tiring. Relax as much as you can, you are all safe here for the moment.”

“None of us are safe here old friend not even you. And I fear the longer you stay the more lost to us you become.” Scott offered the words wearily as he watched the men take up seats in chairs and on the ground, leaning against walls and other furniture in small groupings so they could either talk or fall to sleep.

“You shouldn’t be so worried. The dog king will not harm me. Not yet anyway if this was his plan. He will need to keep me alive and safe to keep my father in line otherwise he risks a war that will destroy his plan. If my father fights him, even if he loses, King John will cause a rebellion among the powers England has allied into one empire, I’m sure of it, at least I strongly believe so going by what I’ve heard.”

“And just where have you been getting your information?” Scott interrogated as he took a seat of his own on the bed. Stiles joined him quickly, bringing both legs to cross under him.

“I have a friend here at court. He keeps me informed on the goings on. Do not repeat this to anyone though. If he is suspected of treason in any form or fashion concocted by the dog king he could be put to death. I can’t have that.”

Scott cocked his head to a side and gave Stiles his intense best friend stare that asked a thousand questions without him ever having to even open his mouth. His giant puppy dog eyes glistened by the light of the candles that lit the room, making them sparkle like obsidian gems. “Whatever it is you’re thinking, I suggest you stop. Because I have not become romantically entangled with anyone here nor would I wish to.” Stiles tossed his head to look away and out the window where he could see the moon. It had risen high into the sky in the short time between the sun’s descent and the darkness covering the earth.

“If you say so, but may I just ask. What is between you and the alpha king?”

“What sort of question is that?” Stiles countered.

“A normal one that deserves an answer.”

“There is nothing between me and that animal not that there could ever be.” There was a special brew of emotion thrust into his words that made Scott sigh.

“The way you say that worries me.”

“Why?”

“Because I know you old friend, better than any other…”

“Then you should know this. A man like that could never inspire anything within me but discontent and disregard. He is a monster and nothing changes that.”

“He seems very possessive of you.” Scott continued after a brief silence during which he turned several thoughts over in his head. He did know Stiles and something inside him suspected a deeper more troubling occurrence about to spring forth from the root he sensed was growing in both his friend and the English king.

“I am his captive of course he’s possessive. Should he lose me he loses everything at this point. Let us be done with this talk. Tell me instead of my father and how he fares?”

Scott pinned his friend with a worrisome stare before relenting and doing as his friend asked. He told him of their kingdom and everything that had happened following the battle with the Englishmen considering he’d not have known anything having been captured.

*

Fingers danced down his bare chest and to the waist of his trousers. They were soft and gentle, grasping at him like an innocent hungry for a taste of the same sin that made prudent women liberated and desired. Derek watched as the young maiden pulled down the fabric and took his weight in her hand. It forced a groan from his throat. The sound, guttural and beast. His eyes flashed scarlet as they often did in times of emotional resonance.

He watched her smile up at him, at the way she affected him. He delicate hands moved up and down the king’s shaft tightly so that he had to restrain himself from taking her right then and there. As if anticipating the threat his lust posed to her imagined virtue, she slipped his member into her mouth so that it slid in deep, touching the tip of her throat and making her choke and cough out the long, thick manhood. Derek tossed his head back, his eyes rolling back in his head at the pleasure. She tasted him again and his eyes closed this time, But in the darkness there was no expected fantasy of the rest of the night. There was no overflow of hunger and desire to toop a young woman until she begged for mercy.

All he could see was another mouth taking him in to full length and handling every last inch as though it were a part of him. All he could hear was the sound of soft musical moans of pleasure and interest in continuing with such ministrations at the very least of not taking it a step further. All he could feel was silken fire running over his skin everywhere the man touched him so that before long his body was burning as easily as a willing sacrifice to the flames of desire. And when he’d look down in first time vision of a man he’d not before dreamed of. When he looked down and watched the one he gave his mind and fantasies to the most hidden of places. All he saw were green eyes looking back at him. Strong, stubborn, willful, emerald green wolf’s eyes.

Derek opened his eyes immediately and stood abruptly unintentionally throwing the woman to the floor. “Leave me,” he commanded waving a hand at her. She didn’t question him. She hurriedly gathered her things and took off before even dressing herself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How's that for a hungry Derek. Major unchained melody feels going on here. Tell me what you guys think. Also for those of you following my Through Blood And Fire story I'm posting the next chapter is up and you're gonna love it. BTDubs, can I just say not sure which direction they going with teen wolf this second half of the season but I;m eager to find out. Oh and do we not just love how they're keeping assumptions about Stiles' sexuality interestingly open to interpretation like when the girl he was kissing last week asked him if he likes guys and he seemed to be thinking about it. Anyway, leave a comment lovelies Ya'll know I thrive on the feedback!!  
> Yours Truly   
> Desi


	9. Out of The Frying Pan

Their bodies were bound for a long time. In a strong, tight embrace that made Derek a little uncomfortable but he dared not show it. At least not in front of his people and the others. The Scots and him. Germin Stiles Stilinski. Stiles. He’d spent an awful lot of time thinking about that name. Thinking about how that name felt to him. How much more he was noticing the effect the name and the man who laid claim to it made him feel. The fact that he felt at all was a thing of wonder in itself. And as often as he’d thought of him, he’d forced himself to forget his thinking until his mind was playing this awkward and uncomfortable dance with itself.

Stiles and Scott held together tighter than anything. Tighter than they’d ever held each other. Brothers, in every way that truly mattered. Stiles felt the slight wetness filling up his eye and closed it quickly. Gathering himself so that no one saw him crying, least of all Derek. He certainly didn’t know why Derek in particular popped into his brain but he chose not to give it too much thought. He pulled away slightly, just enough that he could nuzzle his friend in the neck. A more animal gesture than human but one of camaraderie and trust nonetheless.

“I must return to your father to report your state as I have promised but do trust in my promise to return.” Scott said the words quite formally in the presence of others but he knew Stiles would see through his patriotic stance and understand what he was saying.

“Don’t come back to this place Scott. As much as I have enjoyed you being with me even for just one day, I couldn’t bear for you to be a prisoner here like me. Trapped by a tyrant and forced to abide by his rules.”

Derek winced inwardly when he heard Stiles’ take on their time together thus far. Boyd, who had returned earlier in the day noted the change in him. Despite his attempt at concealing his annoyance, the king’s entire body went rigid and his fists balled. The skin was pulled so tight over his knuckles they turned from a blossoming pink to an angry scarlet. Much like the eyes he found himself flashing more often and there was no wonder in his mind, who was responsible for the lack of emotional control which led to his powers flaring like they did.

Boyd stretched out a hand and grabbed at the King’s arm. His royal highness turned to look at him once in utter agitation. Before taking a few deep breaths and allowing his hands to fall calmly and gently at his sides.

Scott laughed out loud and clapped his hands on Stiles’ shoulders the way he used to do all the time back home. “Trust me old friend. Trust me.” With that he pulled away so that Stiles hands fell away from him. Scott reached for one of his hands with his own and squeezed gently, keeping the gaze he’d held with his best friend. Staring into those eyes one more time.

“Enough,” Derek called clapping his hands together twice. “It is time to make your leave. I imagine once you’ve delivered your message I shall have your king’s response immediately.”

Scott turned slowly and regarded the alpha king of England with complete and utter contempt, a look shared by his friend and prisoner of the English. Derek kept from turning his eye on the captive, afraid of what his reaction might be if he were to do so. “As you say,” Scott offered before finally releasing Stiles and signaling to his men to follow him.

“See the Scottish envoy to the border, make certain they have left and place additional guard in case they decide they’ve forgotten something and try to return.” The king addressed one of the captains who had come down with his own men at the king’s request. The man nodded and turned on his heel to lead the Scots out.

Derek sighed and headed for the door, pausing just inches from the threshold. “I shall send Cromwell to you then, I’m sure you’ll need a friend now that they’ve gone. I imagine loneliness can be a harsh thing after such hours of company.” He tried to sound detached but an odd tone of emotion laced the words. Stiles didn’t notice it at the time, too blinded by his anger, his…

“I hate you,”

“In time you may just forget such things and learn a different way.” The king wasn’t even sure what he meant by his own words and truly didn’t want to stay there and attempt to figure it out. He almost jerked forward, stopping himself before he could get through the door. He turned about and looked to Stiles, just to capture a glimpse of him once more before he left the man to his rage. Stiles had already half turned so he could look through the window. The look on his face made Derek’s heart bleed. He realized in that moment that the more and more he found himself in situations like these, with responses like these, the more he wanted more. The less he wanted them to stop. Like a masochist bound to a fatal appreciation for pain, he couldn’t help but want to feel whatever he found himself feeling when he looked at Stiles or thought of Stiles or fantasized… He left without another word.

*

“Are you finally finished with that unfortunate business with the Scottish then?” Lydia queued, her face molded into a pouty look of annoyance.

Derek moved closer and took her face in his hands, “What is the matter my dear?”

“It only seems like you spend a lot of time concerned with that Scottish prince you keep locked away in your tower. How sad that is in itself.” She leaned into his touch and rubbed against his palm like a cat.

“I am…”

“One thing majesty before you are truly free of this business.” Boyd interjected with a solemn look to his face and a soft impassive tone in his speech as always.

“Get on with it then so I cannot be made to appear a liar.” Derek turned and Lydia sighed flailing a hand about her head as though she were surrendering to God.

“I was only to suggest, my lord, that you allow for the removal of the prince from the tower.” Derek’s eyes widened immediately, the shock of the suggestion throwing him for a moment. It wasn’t the suggestion itself but the voicing of it. He’d honestly admit in the privacy of his own mind he’d considered it, releasing the prince to live amongst the other nobles, to live freely at court. He’d watch him, he’d have more opportunities to, but he dared not decide to do something like that himself. Not when imprisoning him seemed like the more kingly thing to do.

“It would be a good move in my opinion my lord. You keep saying that he is not just a prisoner and that is true. He is your ward. In your care presently and there is no reason he shouldn’t be treated as such. He is no threat outside amongst others and it would be better for him to believe he has more freedom. It will also foster a better reception from the Scottish king which could lead to a more profitable and stable alliance over time.”

Derek sighed, turning to stare off into the distance, his head tilting just so as he thought it over. He set up his face as well, more for them than for him, to keep up appearances. If he was being honest the decision was pretty much made already. He’d only needed someone else to make that kind of suggestion. He was about to speak, opening his mouth when Lydia put a finger to his lip. Silencing him.

“Listen to him my king. I agree with him. Surely my opinion doesn’t count for much in the matters of men, king and country but if you’d allow me to speak freely…”

Derek grasped her wrist firmly in his hand and pulled gently but not before kissing her finger like any loving betrothed would do. “Your opinion will always count here, especially with me. You are to be my wife, do not ever hold your tongue with me.”

She smiled as she responded to him, a pink shading now on her cheeks. “He is a noble a prince not a criminal. Wars come and go and all is fair in a battle but the battle is over now, you have won. You have the advantage and now, it is the time to show your benevolence.”

Derek nodded, “Agreed,”

“Truly,”

“Yes my darling. And thank you Lord Boyd for being such a faithful servant and assisting me in the right direction.”

“It is an honor and a privilege to be trusted by you my lord. I only do my part to ensure that the prestige you have placed upon me is rightly earned.”

“Go to the prince this evening then and order his servants to pack his things. Have him come to our chambers to join us for supper this evening. While he is here, have his things moved to the third room in the southwest wing of the castle.” Lydia turned abruptly.

“Is that not the room closest to yours?”

“Yes it is. Does that displease you Lydia?”

“Well I don’t suppose it does I just don’t understand why you would want him there?” Her hand played nervously at her flowing red hair.

“Keeping him close is best. If he is to enjoy such freedom it should be monitored and somewhat limited in its infancy. What better place to keep him than close to his guardian where the guard is doubled and should anything happen I shall be able to intercede with haste.”

“It is the best idea my lady. For the king’s protection, as well as the prince’s.” Boyd’s eyes became shadowed by an almost practiced darkness as he turned to face the king again. “There are those who would see the prince ended in their fanatical loyalty to the king. Those who would think it best if he were, gone. The closer he is to the king the better for all involved.”

The moment he uttered the words, Derek’s eye twitched, his hand jerked and he placed full attention on Boyd, reading into the well played concern edging off the man. “Is this true?” he queued though he wouldn’t normally question Boyd. The shock of such a revelation stroked those unintentional feelings he held for a man he should hate on principle.

“It is my lord,” Boyd confirmed. Lydia glanced at Derek, taking in his reaction. Her heart jumped as she became uneasy with the subtle changes she noticed, Changes that had started long enough before today. Changes she was becoming afraid of though she wasn’t certain exactly what she feared.

“No harm must come to him. Do you know who those people are Lord Boyd?”

“No my king I do not. There have only been whisperings at court, among servants.”

“Perhaps we should round them up and torture names out of them…”

“Derek!” Lydia hissed.

“I doubt that would be the best solution, after all they are your people and it is their duty to you that drives them.” Boyd put in. Derek glanced at the queen to be and softened his face.

“Apologies Lydia, a king’s humor is occasionally distasteful.” She simply nodded in response, keeping her mouth closed as she pondered over his suggestion. Her mother had educated her about humor long ago. She’d said that women take care to never say what they think, not even in jest. For two thirds of the things said in jest are always someone’s first honest belief. “Leave us Boyd, my wife to be desires my attentions with concern placed on the upcoming nuptials and I desire her happiness in all things.”

“As you wish your grace,” Boyd bowed to him and then to Lydia offering the respectful issue of her title before he departed.

“Come now lady, let us discuss all you have been up to.” He cupped her chin between thumb and forefinger and leaned in to place a kiss on her lips, effectively putting aside all her uneasiness. His hand dropped down to hers and he clasped them together, lacing his fingers through hers.

 

*

Scott strode briskly into the throne room. The heavy doors ahead were pulled apart by two warriors armed from head to toe with dark looks upon their faces. A mere representation of the king’s state of mind since the whole situation had arisen. His only son in the hands of the enemy, a new enemy at that. Unpredictable and young. Young men were often petulant and petty. Cruel and crazed by the sweet seduction of power. And even though the lady Marin had come to court and clearly stood in the king’s corner he couldn’t fight off that instinct to fear the worst for his child, his heir, progeny.

King John regarded the young man harshly as Scott approached. He wasted no time getting to his feet and walking forward so quickly Scott missed the actually movement. It was like he’d blinked and the King of Scots transmuted himself from place to another. That was the power of an alpha-king, his alpha-king, and that power bled into mundane action the more frustrated the king became.

Scott immediately threw himself onto his knees and bowed low before his master, baring his neck to show total and complete submission. “What news then?” John called out. His voice was a gruff, harsh exclamation. He didn’t try to sound that way but the days had weighed heavily on him and it showed in almost all he did. It took much to wear down a wolf and the truth of it was John Stilinski was worn and tired and relentless.

“My king, I have seen him as have the men you sent with me. He is well.” Scott kept his position remaining submissive, not wanting to irritate an already incredibly irritated alpha wolf. No matter the relationship they shared before, nothing changed a man’s perspective on all others, like threatening his blood.

“Make into detailed terms the state of my son Scott McCall. For it is you who in my place has seen him at all. Perhaps I should simply share the memory of it…”

“My lord,” Scott interrupted quickly. “Apologies but let me explain, perhaps it is better to do so than to have you live through seeing him, only to release me and lose him again.” The king stopped short then, thinking on his words. Pondering on them, weighing them against his own suggestion. It was a hard choice to make but he had to choose one and Scott hoped he wouldn’t choose his own. He knew there was something in his head the king shouldn’t see. The thought had come quick and unbidden but the moment  John had suggested seeing Scott’s memories, he’d gone back to Derek Hale nearly killing one of his own men for putting a hand on Stiles. And then later on when he’d cleared the room for Stiles and imposed on his personal space. If Joh saw that and thought for a minute that Derek was interested even remotely in laying a claim on his son, the man would set off to war and die, for Stiles’ virtue and probably take hundreds to the grave with him on both sides.

“I only seek to avoid my Lord enduring any more pain than is necessary when I can simply offer a gentler way,” Scott uttered softly, gently and so kindly convincing.  The king sighed and turned away, probably trying to hide the tears Scott could scent.

“Rise Scott, on your feet and tell me then.” With the words, he turned about and moved back to his throne before sitting, dropping down into the seat heavy and leaden.

“He has been given royal chambers in the Tower of London. Though he is presently under restricted access, he is waited on by a handful of servants who see to his needs. He is offered proper food and drink and even has a guard assigned to him, to keep him safe as well as ensure he doesn’t escape. The man takes the latter less seriously though as he has become quite fond of prince Germin and the same can be said the other way around.”

“Surely he knows better than to trust an Englishman?”

“You know better than any the effect he has on those who are fortunate enough to meet him majesty.”

“I pray that effect falls on the English king and he releases my son to me.” He sighed throwing the thought away as quickly as it had come like hopeless fodder. “Go on.”

Scott nodded and continued, “He is dressed well, bathed as any other royal and aside from being kept in his chambers, lives as one. He is well sire and I did not receive the impression that the king was planning on changing the nature of his accommodation at any point.”

“You are a good and faithful servant and friend Scott McCall.” The king dropped his head into one of his hands and a rumbling growl emanated from his throat.

“Why then do you sound as if mourning my lord, the situation is hopeful.” He tried his best to sound optimistic for his king. The man though, looked up and into Scott’s eyes with scarlet glowing eyes.

“I mourn, not for my son, though I cannot help but fear a dark end to all this, but for my kingdom. Because the truth of what you say reveals only one option. I must submit my land and title to the English king to ensure my son is not harmed.”

 

*

Stiles entered the room preceded by the king’s two guards who’d been sent to accompany him as well as Lord Boyd, who’d fetched him on Derek’s behalf…. Derek. He’d wondered for a tiny fragment of time when he’d started thinking of the man as Derek and not just the dog king. The room they stepped into was large and dimly lit. Not that a group of werewolves required much light by which to eat. There were several paintings along the walls and items of furniture scattered in some semblance of organization in the room. The largest of which was the table. It was grand, spanning several feet. The top half was laid out with a bounty of foods including, cheeses, bread, meat and fruit. Goblets of wine and decanters were placed to the side of large platters seated before the two persons who’d been present.

Stiles immediately took in the presence of the king. The darkness did nothing to hide his unique physical perfection. He seemed taller in the room. His clothing was regal as always and his face was a hard sculpture chiseled into masterpiece. Stiles shook the thought from his head, forcing himself to turn from the man and study his companion. A woman, shorter than the king but as tall as himself. Her hair was pinned up high and burned a bright orange fire like the light of the dying sun before it fell beneath the waters of the world. She was a vision. More beautiful than any he’d come across since birth.

The men led him to the table and stopped short at the seat on the opposite side of the woman who stood next to the king. “My lord, my lady, Prince Germin Stilinski,” Boyd announced. Derek waved a hand at him and he turned on his heel ushering the guards from the room. The king then sat himself at the head of the table, where he was already positioned. Lydia followed suit, sitting down opposite Stiles, who just stood there, a bit uncomfortable, and a bit confused.

“Well then, don’t just stand there. Sit down, eat,” Derek coaxed flashing the young prince a wicked grin that stirred a curious reaction in his stomach, like the graze of butterfly wings fluttering ever so slightly against him.

 

 


	10. Start Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The song that Stiles sings in this chapter with Scott, the name sake of this chapter entitled, "Start Again" is in no way form or fashion my own creation, but the property of amazing artist Gabrielle Aplin.

Stiles eyed the platters before them and then eyed the King. He’d seated himself comfortably and already began shoveling food onto his plate. He seemed to pay no attention to Stiles as he stacked himself a good helping of cheeses meat and bread. Lydia watched Derek and then Stiles, offering him a curious half smile as though she were not quite sure what she was to do with him. She then cleared her throat when no one moved and Derek glanced up at her. She inclined her head in Stiles direction and eyed Derek once more.

The king followed her eye as if he actually needed the help identifying the oddity in the room. He sighed audibly, “So are you going to sit down?” he queued.

“Why?” Stiles asked bluntly after another silent moment of assessing the situation.

“Must everything hold some deep meaning and ulterior motive with you,” Derek let out exasperated, the annoyance sharp in his eyes almost sounding out like the clatter of his cutlery on the table surface. In his own mind was an irrational anger at the way Stiles refused to see him as anything but a monster, an enemy, when he so clearly found redeeming qualities in the young prince.  

“I think what the king is trying to say,” Lydia jumped in, placing a soft palm over Derek’s tensed fist until it gentled and opened up splaying on the table. She took the cutlery with her other hand and handed it to him as she continued speaking with the prince, “is, we wished to share a meal with you prince Germin. In the spirit of peace even in this tense time. In the spirit if getting to know who you are. I personally know nothing more than you are adored by your people.”

Stiles looked at Lydia, as if he were trying to figure her out but couldn’t quite yet. At least not without some conversation. He sat down slowly but still in his chair as though were he to make one false move there would be dire repercussions. Derek looked at him again and laughed. “You should try relaxing little prince. No one is trying to poison you,” Derek added after he caught Stiles eyeing the food suspiciously. “If I had wanted you dead there would be more direct ways to take care of it. Poison is a woman’s weapon. Would you like me to taste the food for you?”

Stiles shot him a disgusted glance before turning his head and raising his chin belligerently. “I am not hungry.”

“No need for lies, you have not eaten since the morn so I would suggest you grab a bite, while you can.” He stabbed a piece of cheese with his fork and slipped it into his mouth all the while keeping his gaze steady on the young prince. Lydia cleared her throat again and gracefully nudged Derek indicating something to him with her eyes that Stiles didn’t catch as he was still denying the king his attentions. “Right I do not believe you have yet been introduced. Prince Germin, Stiles, I wonder which you prefer. No matter I shall call you what I please as you will obviously not tell me what I shall be addressing you by. So Prince Stiles, this is Princess Lydia Martin of Denmark, she is to be the next Queen of England.”

His face twitched in response. Stiles finally turned and nodded to the woman, deciding not to hold her acquaintances against her. “Pleasure to meet you my lady.”

“If only I could win such a reception,” Derek commented causing Stiles to fully and thoroughly roll his eyes. Lydia smiled at him.

“And yours good prince. I did not realize you had two names, May I ask which you prefer to be called, I would hope not to offend a new friend.” Stiles regarded her tensely, long and hard under which her own expression never faltered. She seemed warm and inviting off the bat but of course it was too soon to say. He chose though to take her at first impression.

“Stiles. I would prefer my lady if you would call me Stiles. No titling necessary, it is how my friends call on me.” He took special care to address her in a manner that rather obviously excluded Derek. It only seemed to amuse the king as his face stretched in a smile.

“I take it I am not counted amongst them then,” Derek pouted pretentiously, “oh the treatment one is shown after feeding and clothing his so called enemies.” He returned to his food joyously, glancing up only when he thought no one was watching to take in Stiles reactions, they suddenly seemed like the most pleasurable part of the evening.

“A kindness from an enemy is simply a weapon artfully disguised,” Stiles remarked pointedly as he idly played with a fork. He’d picked it up unconscious of the action, his hunger clearly manifesting itself. He was surprised when Lydia dished out a few items on his plate and before he could protest she’d thrown up a hand and shook her head at him. He offered her a weak smile and turned to the food, trying desperately not to approach it too eagerly and give himself away.

Derek smirked, “Did your father teach you that?” Derek asked a bit of sarcasm coating his tone.

“My mother, in fact, was the one who taught us both that lesson. Not that it is any of your business.”

“And how pray tell did your mother of all people come by such an important lesson, not that I’m admitting it’s truth in every situation. I can’t imagine a woman having much to worry about by way of enemies and wars aside from her husband returning absent his head.” His words annoyed Stiles because he knew exactly what the man was saying without saying it harshly.

“It takes more than just a single minded king to protect and prosper a kingdom.”

“So the king rules the land and the queen rules the king then. And in his weakness the queen rules the kingdom through her unfortunate husband,” Derek retorted absent mindedly though he seemed more engaged than he tried to let on.

“A woman’s wisdom and experience is to be respected. When a man, a king has a good woman he uses her just as easily as he uses an army to fell his enemies. My father knew that and made sure my mother was part of every aspect of the ruling.” Stiles responded bitterly, not looking at the man as he managed to feed himself around the angry words.

“Every aspect?” Derek pushed again on some angle Stiles couldn’t identify. “How is it then I did not spy her on the battlefield?” It was a half thought out question that surprised everyone who sat at the table. Lydia immediately turned to him frowning as Stiles turned, his face scrunched into an angry scowl.

“Because she is dead and has been for some time now,” the words were harshly let out through gritted teeth. His eyes glowed a deep emerald as he spoke. “My lady if you’d please excuse me, I feel a bit ill and it’s no wonder with the company I’m now forced to keep. Company I fear you too are forced to endure for if these are the views of a man you’re meant to wed, I pray mercy for your soul.” He rose immediately pushing the chair back beneath him with a grating screech and tossed the cutlery into the platter before turning about and leaving the room. Derek opened his mouth to say something but Lydia placed a hand on his silencing him.

“I doubt you’d appreciate your enemies discussing your family far less your mother, the woman you loved and mourned the longest and hardest of all of your line.”

“I didn’t..” he started but she cut him off.

“You know Claudia Stilinski has passed long since from this world. If it is your intent to make some form of peace with the Scottish heir, it is probably best not to antagonize him further.” She spoke calmly and plainly to him. Detatched from the situation, devoid of emotion as a teacher would teach a child a new lesson. Derek simply nodded and returned to his meal. He didn’t speak for the rest of the evening having lost himself in his own head. He hadn’t thought of what he was saying, how offensive it might seem, how callous. He’d enjoyed the conversation, however short. He’d enjoyed speaking with the man no matter what about and he had put his foot in his mouth and set his own progress back.

Long after Lydia had left and he’d assured her he had other things to attend to, he remained seated at the table thinking it over, thinking him over. Germin Stilinski, Stiles.

As soon as he’d cleared the room and walked through the door. Danny was at his side. His personal guard and watchdog. They walked in silence back to Stiles room, Danny anticipating that the prince needed the silence and the space to move on from whatever it was that had transpired. When he’d gotten to his rooms, the boys who’d been assigned to serve him came in, relieved him of his clothing and dressed him in night robes. He took straight to his bed without word and lay his head down, facing the window so he could see the stars.

Danny watched over him for a moment, but then left him in peace when it got later. Stiles lay there pondering his mother for a long time. Remembering her soothing touch. The calming tone of her voice as she’d sing him his favorite tunes to lull him to bed. He recalled the words and felt them dance off his tongue as he sounded them out softly. Slowly his mind drifted until he barely held the image of her there, right before his eyes as the lids shut and he dozed off.

The room was dark, but nothing the eyes of a werewolf couldn’t see through, far less for the alpha of wolves. Derek couldn’t remember the walk over, the motivation or how long he’d been standing in the dark staring at the sleeping prince. His back was pressed against the wall, his arms folded over his chest, the normal tension in his body completely gone in the calming presence of the young prince. He hadn’t dared to allow his mind to settle on just one thought, so he contentedly allowed his ideas to circle and swim around in his brain, finding refuge in the eye of chaos in his own head.

Stiles had stirred several times and each moment he did, Derek felt himself still, completely coiled and ready should he find the need to suddenly disappear from the room. Though he wasn’t sure he could force himself to actually leave no matter how much he responded to the disturbances in the young man’s sleep. It didn’t take long for him to be tested and just as he’d suspected he failed.

He knew the exact moment Stiles woke. His own body had tensed up again but only as he stilled himself and coiled again like a wildcat about to strike. He heard how the man’s heart had sped up, how his breathing changed, became deeper and then shallow. He smelt the anxiety radiating of the prince when his senses had flared and he realized he’d awoken to an intruder in his personal space. It was that moment Derek had made the decision. He wanted to speak, to address him, to apologize.

“Prince…” he started and his eyes strayed for a moment, looking to the food he’d brought to the man as an offering of peace, a gesture of goodwill. “I don’t know how to address you without so as not to make you unhappy. You prefer one name you afford to friends yet, I am not counted in such high an esteem… nor do I expect to be.” he rose his hands defensively, even though Stiles had never turned to look at him, as he added the last bit quickly. “Perhaps I shall simply refer to you as prince, until you tell me just what would make you hate me less, then I would address you by that name.” Derek sighed, it was only then he realized he’d moved closer to the man who remained still on the bed.

“I brought you some food, you didn’t finish eating and I thought you might be hungry…” he trailed off looking at the prince’s stretched out body, looking for some sign of acknowledgment or maybe an indication that the young man was interested in what he was saying. There was none. Stiles gave nothing away. He remained completely still, his eyes half lidded as he listened to Derek go on. “It is not the only reason I came by. You said a king owns up to his mistakes. I made a mistake this evening. A disgraceful one and have come seeking to apologize and perhaps earn your forgiveness. My insensitivity was staggering, I shouldn’t have made those comments I did about her, your mother and for that I apologize. I know what it’s like to lose a parent, a mother.” There was a beat of silence, in which Stiles let out a single slow breath on which rode the tension he’d built up in his body. His eyes felt wet and blurred but he remained quiet, despite Derek already having seen his reaction.

“I’m sorry,” Derek waited after those words for several heartbeats but Stiles said nothing in response. The king turned to take his leave and just before he was able to walk through the door he’d pulled open he heard the softest and most welcome words he could ever hope for…

“Stiles,” the young prince murmured, so softly any regular human would have missed it. Derek didn’t respond. He found himself holding his breath as his fingers tightened around the door’s handle. “Call me Stiles, please.”

A small smile crept across his face and he breathed relief into the air. His entire body responded to those tiny words. His body begged him to turn around, take in one last glance, venture a caress, skin on skin but he kept himself from betraying his dark thoughts, fantasies. “Good Night Prince Stiles,” he whispered into the dark room and exited it just as quickly as they were free of his lips. Stiles turned around almost immediately, in time to see his door closing, to hear the footsteps receding. A stray tear danced down the side of his face and seeped into the cloth beneath his face as his thoughts turned, to the dream he was having, of a man whose eyes shifted from the most beautiful array of green, hazel and grey to the darkest scarlet that reflected something in his own eyes, a desire he couldn’t yet identify with, or rather accept that he did.

Stiles was up long before dawn had danced its lights across the morning sky. He’d sat on his bed for long alternating a gaze steady on the horizon outside his window and the platter of food Derek had brought to him in the dark of the night prior. Danny had come in to check on him as did his servants who had come to prepare him for the day. He felt like a princess. They had arguably led much more caged lives than their male counterparts and at that moment in time that’s exactly how he felt. Though he noted how much more he seemed to find the bars slowly fading from his vision, where before, he couldn’t see anything but the crisscross of iron that kept him bound to a life he wasn’t meant to lead.

He’d gone through the motions for the servants, getting out of bed silently, having them bathe and dress him, the whole time consumed with thoughts he wouldn’t dare to voice, at least not just to anyone. When he stood before a full length mirror being dressed like some child’s doll, he heard a familiar voice. “If I’d known you’d miss me so desperately you would take a vow of silence I would have stayed.”

Stiles turned so fast one of the servants stumbled and fell at his knees. He uttered a quick apology, remembering to, only when he saw his best friend’s eyebrow arch wickedly high. The smile was far from slow in coming. Stiles ran to Scott and threw arms around him, hugging him harshly. “What are you doing here? Why did you come back?” Stiles questioned though he’d already known the answer to his question.

“I promised you that I would, or did you think my word meant so little now?” He hugged Stiles back just as fiercely, smiling into the man’s neck as he scented him, remembering all the years they’d grown together like brothers until that scent was so familiar to him, until it was almost his own scent every bit as much as Stiles had smelled like him without physical contact. It was a comfort to smell him again.

“Of course not. I just didn’t think father would agree, nor did I think the king would. Does he even know you’re here?” Stiles queued as he pulled away a look of concern taking over his expression. He didn’t relinquish his hold on Scott, keeping his hands firm on the man’s shoulders.

Scott’s face contorted into a curious expression that met jolly and confusion in the middle. “You would be surprised to know, not only did he approve, but the King Derek suggested, I be put up in quarters as close to you as possible as well as be your personal guard here at court.” Stiles scrunched up his brow in his own confusion.

“I don’t believe it,” he murmured, glancing to the platter he hadn’t touched since Derek had brought it in the night before.

“It’s the truth. So what do you say old friend. You and me take on the English and find some way to get you out of this mess, and this place. Though I must say you aren’t doing too bad for yourself,” Scott gestured around, finally letting go so the servants could finish clothe the prince.

“A beautiful cage is still just that, a cage my friend. Do not be fooled by the glamour. And do not say such things. If the king should find out you speak of escape he may have you dispatched for trying to disobey his commands.”

Scott laughed but said nothing more for a long time. And when he finally did he simply suggested they go to the throne room to make their presence known. Stiles didn’t see the interest such an idea held but Scott hoped the more people they met the more Stiles could work his magic on them, have them so quickly adore him the way most did. Hopefully the more people who turned their loyalties to Stiles the more of a chance they had at surviving and perhaps, even getting back to Scotland.

When Scott and Stiles entered the throne room, with Danny at their side the room became almost completely still, a hush settling faster than the news of a death could inspire. He was almost certain the reaction was prompted by the king who’d turned away from the peasants before him laying their complaints and concerns at his feet. He gave Stiles his undivided attention, lifting his head from where it was perched on his hand to look at the man, taking him in so completely. The king seemed to almost touch him with that glance, roving over his entire body from feet to head until their eyes met there and held for a moment. It was so electric. Stiles’ entire body responded to that one connection so physically. His heart sped up, his breathing increased rapidly and his blood heated, burning hot and harsh like electricity arcing through his veins before he managed to pull his eyes away. He turned to Scott who was staring at him almost disbelievingly.

“What?” he mumbled as he resumed his walk to the interior of the room. A few persons’ stares lingered on him but most of them had followed the king’s example and turned, however reluctantly, back to the matter at hand.

“Call the next case,” Derek said blandly whilst placing his head right back on its perch. He glanced back at Stiles once more but turned away immediately pinning Lord Spencer, the knight organizing the cases the King saw to daily, with a pointed glare. Stiles listened to the tone of the man’s voice, inspected his posture and his expressions. He was clearly bored, tired of having to sit there and hear it all day after day. Stiles knew it was the norm with most Kings. Some didn’t even attend the cases themselves, simply relegating them to another highly appointed member of the king’s inner circle. Stiles’ father had never been that way.

Back when his mother was alive, it had been the king and queen to oversee the issues the people of their kingdom went through. They took pride in that part of their job and made sure they both agreed on the outcome or verdict before a final word was given. They listened and determined what was fair. Growing up, Stiles had learned to follow that example. He didn’t know if he’d begun testing Derek right then or if it was merely curiosity setting him to scrutinize the proceedings so closely.

“Deirdre and Cort, approach your king!” Lord Spencer declared. Two persons immediately emerged from the crowd. The man moved briskly, walking with squared shoulders and long strides and a stern face to match. He looked young, perhaps barely out of his teen years, twenty three maybe. Though his garb was that of any of the regular villagers, he was rather clean and kempt. The woman was tall and had long flowing brown hair she had tied behind her. She seemed less sure of herself but still moved with pride. Her face appeared worn, weary and sad. They both bowed as they came to stand in front of the king.

“Speak,” Derek urged, gesticulating to the man first.

“Majesty, I am Cort Stanley. I live on and manage the small farm at the east end of Devenshire. It has been my responsibility since I became a man but made more so when my father was killed. Murdered, by that wretched woman there!” he pointed at her and shook his head furiously, “She killed him hoping she could take his land and money once the dust had settled but I know what she’s done and I intend on having her pay for her crimes, by your righteous hand of justice My king.” The woman had stayed silent through the accusation but kept shaking her head and sniffling as though she were holding back her sobs.

“How was your father killed and how do you know it was her who did it?” Derek asked, the vaguest hint of interest lacing the words, but it was so light, so barely there Stiles could have just as easily missed it altogether.

“He was poisoned. She’d been giving him this tea to drink for days, I became suspicious when I found out that he had been having physical difficulties around the same time. I’d catch him clutching his chest or having labored breathing doing every-day tasks. I’d thought nothing of it, but after he died, I became very suspicious. Then she tried to dictate to me about what we were going to do with the farm and the land and then I realized it was her who was responsible, all for the land my father built for his family. This is the bag of herbs she’d used to poison him,” He took out a satchel and held it up for the king and all to see. There was a gasp through the crowd. People turned their eyes on the woman, casting disdainful glances at her.

“Retrieve the evidence, inspect it,” Derek commanded Spencer before turning to Deirdre. “What say you to the accusation and evidence against you.”

The woman stepped forward and bowed again. She looked up to the king, making sure her eyes held his. Stiles couldn’t see straight into her eyes from where he stood but he could imagine what they looked like based on the way she held herself. She began talking, a soft yet throaty voice speaking up to defend herself. “I deny any guilt in the death of my husband. I love Velon Stanley with everything that I am and always will milord. That man took me into his life when I had nothing to offer but a hard past and more undesirable affairs attached to my name than a man could easily accept. He loved me unconditionally and I did the same for him. His family and world became my own and I could not and would not now nor ever do a thing to hurt him. And though I was not able to give him children, he gave me a son. Though he now accuses me of such treachery he is still my boy and I will not speak against him.” She turned to look at Cort who winced visibly at her words.

“I am not your son, I am the son of the man you gave devil’s claw to. I visited an apothecary my king and I was told that is what it was. I was told it can be very dangerous to administer to a man.” He threw the words at her  angrily.

Spencer brought the satchel to the king who looked at it and sniffed its contents cautiously. “Take the woman. You will be held until it is determined what these herbs are and then you will be tried based on the findings. Have you anything to say for yourself besides that, you have already spoken?” Derek spoke easily, without feeling, as though he didn’t care either way. It made Stiles stomach heave and burn with bile to see it. The detachment with which he could have a woman bound and imprisoned, maybe even executed.

He sighed and turned from the scene before him, whispering, maybe to himself, maybe to his best friend who seemed to mirror his own feelings, “Preposterous.”

“I beg your pardon,” Derek spoke up loudly, his voice booming yet seemed controlled even then. Derek turned his head to Stiles, watching him intently.

“My lord,” the woman murmured softly but he ignored her.

“Prince Stiles,” Derek called, “are you of a differing opinion?”

Stiles was shocked by the question, shocked even more that he’d been heard. It was true that they all had enhanced hearing being wolves but in a room full of people, surely all carrying on in their own little side commentaries, it would have been impossible to discern his particular words unless someone was listening for it. Scott and Danny looked at him, both with a telling, almost accusing look in their eyes. “I don’t understand…” Stiles said looking up to Derek confused and with a bit of annoyance still lingering from the handling of the woman’s case.

“I would venture to say that you disagree with my ruling. Do you not?” The room held its breath waiting for Stiles’ reply. No one went against a king ever, at least not in England. He was the smartest man in the room unless he acknowledged another, the strongest and fastest man unless he deferred to another, the victor in all games and wars unless he conceded to another. No one went against him, but Stiles was different. He backed down from no one when he felt he was on the right path and in his present situation, he had nothing to lose.

“I do,” he spoke out more pronounced this time, louder so that all the room could be sure of his words. There was a collective gasp followed once more by silence as they all turned to Derek to see what he would do.

“Then come forth,” Derek invited gesturing with his hand.

Stiles didn’t move, looking to him curiously. Lydia who stood near Peter off to the side of the king frowned and made a move but Peter who looked equally as disturbed held her arm firmly. “Come then, prince Stiles and see this case as you would if this were your court.” The chatter that erupted was outrageous. Everyone whispering until the collective whispers seemed insidious and all encompassing. Peter’s face turned even more sour than before and his grip seemed to tighten on Lydia who looked firmly at him and peeled his hand off of her with clawed fingers. They shared a grim look before turning back awaiting, as the rest of the room did, Stiles’ response.

“If this is some sort of joke…”

“I do not deal in jokes young prince. We are both royals here, there is a difference in opinion and I would have your views on this situation, if you would oblige me.” Again Derek beckoned Stiles forward and this time he didn’t hesitate. The young prince moved, stepping several feet forward before he even realized he had. He had kept his gaze steady with Derek’s and somehow lost himself. In what he could not be certain. The eyes, the voice, the challenge. He chose to believe it was the latter but faster Stiles was becoming more sure that he was no longer sure of anything when it came to Derek Hale. He paused as he turned to take in the woman who stood before the king and court looking confused and perhaps a bit frightened. Her eyes, now that he could see them, were filled with sorrow, and wariness. She wasn’t angry, she wasn’t disillusioned, she was simply hurt and tired and that told him more than words ever could.

Stiles moved to Derek once more and held his hand out, long spider-leg thin fingers splaying wide before the king, “May I examine the… evidence,” he added the last word a bit hesitant, that he could call it that honestly. He had learned many things growing up and part of his teachings had been about many herbs and poisons and devil’s claw while possibly lethal if used incorrectly, was an aid for pain. He knew that much about it for certain. Derek lifted the bag and placed it into his hand, all the while, keeping his eyes steadily connected with Stiles’. He saw the creeping blush upon his skin, from his neck to his ears. It seemed a subconscious reaction as Stiles himself refused to look away, staring the king down almost competitively. It made Derek smile a small ghost of a thing but a smile nonetheless.

Stiles took the bag and opened it, aware as he did so that the room had resumed its low thrum of chatter whilst he did his inspection. The prince sniffed at the contents, cautiously, not sure of anyone’s innocence or guilt just yet. At least not until he took the scents in and identified something else. Devil’s claw was not the only herb in the bag, there was also the scent of white willow bark and ginger, two things he knew quite well as one of them, his mother used to insist he drink in his teas as a boy and the other was given to her to alleviate her pain when she’d became sick.

Stiles looked back up to the woman knowingly and turned to her son in law. His eyes were harsh and angry at first but softened almost immediately. The boy radiated anger, rage even but more so he saw pain. Stiles saw pain in his eyes and was sure that that was what guided his actions no matter how wicked or vindictive they could have been perceived to someone else. “Cort, I am Prince Stiles Stilinski of Scotland,” Stiles began gently.

“I know who you are,” he replied belligerently.

“You will speak to royalty with the respect he is due or you will find yourself beneath my axe man’s blade before you can plead for that head to remain where it is.” Derek’s words bit like a sword of ice. The crowd shuddered and a glint of fear flashed in Cort’s eyes as his wolf’s eyes glowed their untainted amber. Stiles turned back to the king swiftly watching the expression on his face, the very carefully restrained rage in his eyes that flickered scarlet around the edges of those kaleidoscope irises. Derek turned his eyes to Stiles who frowned at him bringing that small smile back to the king’s lips and lighting his eyes so it was as though the previous anger had never been.

“Apologies my king, your grace, forgive me,” Cort began as Stiles replaced his attention on the man and his step mother. “I am simply caught up in my own grief and anger at that woman, who is not now nor will ever be my mother.” He bowed low and Stiles waved him up.

“I suppose you’re right, she didn’t birth you or bring you into this world. She didn’t conceive or carry you it is true. How long ago did your birth mother pass?” Stiles spoke to the man gently though he tried to keep his tone as objective as possible, never accusing.

Cort seemed uncomfortable for the first time, he cleared his throat and threw a hand roughly through his hair. “She did not pass your grace. She left my father and I many years ago. I have not seen her since I was very young and the memories I had of her have long since faded.” Stiles nodded, taking in the anguish in the man’s voice that he’d tried to hide.

“She abandoned you, I am sorry that is a hard thing to endure. A mother is irreplaceable, even a bad one. And then another woman walks into your life after it has been your father and yourself for a while and then he’s no longer just your father but her husband as well.” Stiles made it a statement, every word of which, Cort paid close attention to. Stiles almost missed the quick nod Cort had given him. It was gross honesty but he’d expected no less. If there was anything people responded to, it was his voice, his understanding, his heart.

“Were they married long, Deirdre and your father?” He kept speaking directly to Cort as he had suspected that was the true problem.

“Long enough,” he murmured.

“And did he love her?”

“Maybe he thought he did I don’t know.”

“Yes you do Cort, tell me, please, did your father love Deirdre?”

“Yes, which is probably what makes her betrayal so much worse, I thought she loved him too…”

“What about you Cort, did she love you?”

“What…”

“You heard me, did she love you?”

“How could I know something like that your grace?”

“Did she clothe you, feed you, tend to you when you were ill, speak to you in kindness? Any of these things or all of them, has she done them be truthful, for your father’s sake.” There was a pained look in the man’s eyes when Stiles added the bit about his father. He opened his mouth to say something but then stopped, eyes drifting to Deirdre and then to the ground.

“Yes she did do those things, all those things.” He admitted it grudgingly.

“And did she ever treat you or your father with ill will?” Stiles pressed, feeling like he was coming to the end and the truth.

“Not that I could see,” Cort answered quicker that time, though his eyes remained plastered to the floor.

Stiles turned then to the woman who had kept herself silent as she stared at her son in law with a concerned expression upon her face. “Deirdre, how long was your husband ill?” The question shocked the entire room. Their voices rising to a din that had Derek raising his hand to gain their attention and silence them. He seemed puzzled himself, his brow knitting together in a frown, his eyes holding curiosity and awe. Cort’s head shot up at the question looking at Stiles first and then Deirdre, pinning her with his accusing glare.

Deirdre seemed confused herself but Stiles was certain it was for a different reason. She did not move to hide the truth answering, “Several months milord, how did you know?”

Stiles smiled at her kindly and spoke again, “This bag,” he held it up, “contains devil’s claw, white willow bark and ginger. Devil’s claw can be lethal that is true but it is also used in aiding in the alleviation of pain so does white willow bark and ginger which, the latter of the two is used often to improve quality of life.”

“He had a lot of pain milord, it grew worse and worse every day until it became so unbearable he could no longer pretend and had to lie in bed and be tended to full time. I thought it was serious but he thought it would pass. Or maybe he didn’t, maybe he just wanted to give us hope. Give me hope.” Her eyes glistened as they filled up with tears that slowly crept down her cheek. “I begged him to tell Cort what was happening but he refused. He said he would never leave the boy to fear his father would abandon him to death like his mother did in life. He made me swear to carry the secret to my grave and I vowed I would. I am so sorry?” She said turning to her son in law.

“W..what are you s..saying?” Cort asked, stuttering slightly as his lips began to tremble.

“What she’s saying,” Stiles began, moving forward then, toward the two people, “is that she tried to respect your father’s wishes and spare you ongoing grief and pain. What she’s saying is that she kept your father’s pain at bay as much as she could because he was dying and his stubbornness and underestimation of you kept him from being honest with the son he loved so dearly. What she’s saying is that she loves you.” Stiles came to a halt right in front of Cort who shook his head and looked away from either of them, mumbling his denial to himself. Stiles lifted a hand and touched his palm to the man’s cheek and turned his head until Cort looked him in the eye. His other arm rose toward Deirdre and beckoned her forward. She came without hesitation and placed her hand in Stiles’ own.

“Cort Stanley, this woman did not kill your father. I think you know that. I think you were left behind by one parent and then by the other. I think you blamed yourself for your mother leaving and now that your father has passed, and you feel someone should be accountable, you put the blame on Deirdre because you can’t bear to be responsible for both of your parents leaving you alone. But no one is responsible for this Cort. Your father died because bad things happen all the time, this is part of life. We lose the ones we love. But one thing your father did not do, is leave you alone. He found a woman to love, a woman who loved him and you and took care of you both. He found a woman who, though she did not conceive and carry you in her body or give birth to you through pain and blood and sweat, she was there for you because she loved you as if you were her own. The woman who left you behind is not your mother, not your real mother. This woman…” Stiles stated as he lifted Deirdre’s hand to Cort’s cheek to replace his own and then used her hand to turn his face to hers, “is your mother.” Deirdre’s face was a mask of sorrow and worry but also of love for him. Cort allowed himself to see it and simply broke down in her arms. Everyone heard him begging for her forgiveness, apologizing over and over and asking for her to not leave him too.

“This is settled, the woman is not guilty, no one is I think they both will now agree.” Stiles let his eyes settle on Deirdre who thanked him silently over Cort’s head before kissing the man and suggesting they go home. Cort thanked Stiles and turned to leave with his mother. Stiles turned to Derek whose face was for the first time not perfectly contorted into an impassive mask or a half slipped mask allowing only safe emotion to be displayed. His eyes were wide with wonder and his mouth slightly ajar. He looked younger then, boyish almost innocent. Stiles smiled then, softly at first and then wider before he caught himself. It felt like approval or acceptance to see Derek looking at him like that and he couldn’t help the way his heart clenched at the sight forcing him into awareness of that smile he’d offered his captor, his enemy.

Stiles bowed to Derek and with a short, “Lord King,” a term he found he could safely use to refer to Derek without suggesting submission or acceptance. He walked away from the throne and headed for the exit. Some watched him intently, respectfully, and admiringly while others seemed annoyed and hateful but he paid neither any mind. Scott and Danny, who also had a face filled with awe and respect he couldn’t quite tame, appeared instantly at Stiles’ side and walked with him out of the throne room.

***

 Derek hadn’t been able to get the day to leave him a moment’s peace. He was fascinated with what Stiles had accomplished. It was magnificent and inspiring. He didn’t even care that the prince had done something he couldn’t. His thoughts simply stopped short at the prince. His meetings had been a daze as did the conversations he’d had with his uncle and Lydia who both disapproved of calling a foreign monarch, and essentially a prisoner of war to oversee one of the king’s duties no matter how well some might have considered it went. In his head, he kept going back to Stiles and all else seemed to matter less.

He had been walking briskly. The night had fallen and the company of other women continued to disinterest. Sleep too had failed him as a safe haven from the thoughts and desires that grew so fast he could not easily escape them. He had found himself setting off before he could stop himself, and he was not even sure if he wanted to stop. He was at Stiles door about to push against the wood of it when he heard music. The soft and delicate notes of a harp, from what he could now hear, cast a spell in that room and beyond it. It was shortly after the last few dizzying notes he heard the voice, as harmonic and enchanting as nothing he’d ever experienced.

“The surface is crackin, the lines on my face, show the courage that I’m lackin here, and the beauty that awaits. Home is just a word without a time or place, I’ve fallen in and out of love with the loneliness I’ve traced and I can’t wait, to start again, I can’t wait to start again. When the darkness and unknown become your friend, and I can’t wait to start again.” Stiles sang out the words but he did so much more than that. He told a story, conjured a picture, memories of pain and stark emptiness and then memories not yet had of possibilities, dreams not yet dead, hope. Derek’s fingers stiffened on the door as he felt his heart clenching in his chest. The harp played out a soft and seductively soothing tone before Stiles sang out again, raw emotion emanating from him. Another voice joined him, harmonizing so that the blend of voices made the music all the more enchanting. The other voice held slightly less emotion but Derek was so focused on Stiles that he barely noticed it.

“The voice of a thousand whispers, with answers I can’t find, I make promises, to the wounded love, in the corner of my mind. When the night before has left you and the smoke has filled your lungs, and you don’t know what you’ve come here for or the person you’ve become, and I can’t wait, to start again. I can’t wait to start again, when the darkness and unknown becomes your friend, no I can’t wait to start again, oh oh and the agony’s turning into thought, and nothing is what I thought it was,” the second voice broke off and Stiles’ own soared higher and higher taking the music up to a fever pitch, to the stars as they transcended the physical plane and moved somewhere spiritual, “Oh and the agony’s turning into thought, and nothing is what I thought it was, and I can’t wait to start again, I can’t wait to start again, when the darkness and unknown become your friend. No I can’t wait to start again.” The harp played on for a short time and then slowly, softly ended the song.

Derek’s hand moved slowly up to his face. Now that the music had stopped, he had become more aware and noticed the cold trail of liquid the tear had made as it slid down his face. “This won’t last forever,” he heard someone say, Scott McCall, he was certain, the man must have been the second singer he’d heard. Derek listened as the man, friend to Stiles continued. “We will be free of this one day, now you should get some rest.”

“Thanks for being here Scott,” Derek heard Stiles say and then, by the sounds of the room following those words, he assumed they’d embraced each other. He moved from the door preternaturally fast. Slipping into the frame of a nearby doorway as Scott left Stiles room and went to his own. When he was certain the man was gone, he moved again, silently going to Stiles’ door and very gently opening it to enter. The lights had been put out but he noticed the harp in the corner of the room near the bed. The light from the moon shone through the window and hit the harp so that gold glinted in the darkness. Stiles lay across his bed, wearing nearly nothing. He lay on his back with his head tilted to a side, facing the window leaving his neck exposed, long and inviting. He looked breathtaking there. Strewn across a bed, his upper body exposed, his skin like porcelain coated with cream, ethereal in the moonlight that bathed him through the window. His hair spilled out wildly around him stretching out and untamed by the leather thong with which he’d normally tie it back. Derek only then really noticed his hair how long and striking, how shiny and lustrous, how exquisite it was. The king unconsciously moved forward, a jerk reaction he had to fight down, but the movement caught Stiles eye and he turned immediately, eyes glowing emerald as he sat up quickly and backed away.

“It is only me prince Stiles, please do not be afraid.” His voice sounded foreign to him. Full of something he didn’t recognize, several things, the greatest perhaps, longing. He stared into those emerald eyes, the thing of his very dreams and wanted to fall into them, as he often did when he closed his eyes to sleep.

“Why have you come?” Stiles asked softly, not moving. His body had shifted into a position from which he could lunge forward should he need to.

“I..” Derek began but wasn’t sure what to say. “I haven’t seen you since earlier in the throne room, when you saw over that family’s troubles.”

“The man you were prepared to dismiss and the woman you were prepared to throw in a dungeon. I remember.” The last two words sounded like a reprimand and Derek winced inwardly feeling guilty.

“Yes, well I am not a perfect man.”

“Mind saying that again, my disbelief at hearing such words come from your mouth is surely understandable. Not to mention you are clearly understating how vastly imperfect you are.”

Derek smiled, “I won’t disagree with you young prince. I handled the matter poorly but you didn’t. You saved that woman and that man, not just from me but from themselves. You put their family back together. How can you be so…” Derek sighed, unable to find a word for what he could picture so clearly in his head.

Stiles tilted his head curiously at Derek and the small action made the king’s body react hotly. “I help people where I can. My mother used to say, a king who pays little mind to the needs of his people will lose his kingdom one way or another. But a king who mends the heart as much as he ends disputes or tends to their lands and protects his kingdom will build an empire in which all who reside, will give their everything to defend.”

Derek leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “Your mother was a wise woman indeed.”

“Yes she was,” Stiles offered softly. He settled then, drawing his knees up to his chest and clasping his hands around them. It felt like a defensive gesture.

“That song you sang, with Scott..”

“You heard us, how long were you listening?” He questioned icily.

“I’m sorry, I came to you and you weren’t alone. I would have left but then I heard you and I.. I wanted to listen to it, the song, to you. It was so sad though?” He’d phrased it as a question to which Stiles eyes softened as his body tensed in an odd oxymoronic combination.

“My present situation leaves much to be desired King, is there any wonder that my songs are somber.” Derek didn’t have an answer to that he could give without sounding regretful and guilty so he changed the subject.

“Your song? You composed it, wrote it?”

“Yes.”

“Do your talents know no bounds?” he teased bringing a smile to Stiles lips, one he quickly cast away when he remembered… his brow furrowed then as a stray thought came to the forefront of his mind.

“Why do you come to me?”

“Pardon me?” Derek deflected.

“You said you came to me but I was not alone. Why do you come? This is not the first time and I feel as though it won’t be the last. You do not send for me or summon me. Sometimes you do not even try to wake me when you think I am asleep, but you stay. I do not understand.”

“Nor do I,” Derek said so softly Stiles barely caught the words even with enhanced wolf hearing. “I have something to ask though.” Derek continued right on speaking up and switching topics again afraid of where things might lead if he let Stiles talk again anymore on the subject of his growing obsession, and that is exactly what it was, an obsession, with a man he should not think too much of because of who they were, players on opposing sides of a chess game. “You must miss the freedom of nature, the transformation and the moon. At the last full moon you were… in the tower. The next one approaches quickly and I would lik… I was hoping you would agree to join my nobles and myself on the run.”

Stiles breath caught in his throat at the proposal. At the last full moon he was bound by chains and kept in the tower. He couldn’t shift or run or feel that connection to the wild that brought his wolf calm. The offer was more than anything he could ever have hoped Derek might be willing to offer him but something in him rejected it. “I don’t think…”

“Please do not deny this thing. I have taken much from you I understand. But I do not wish to take more. You are my ward, and until I decide otherwise, it is my duty to see to your health and comfort and this is part of that. Run with me… with us,” he added hastily.

There was a long silence between them as Stiles thought it over. Several times he opened his mouth to speak but stopped. Finally he sighed and spoke up. “I expect Daniel and Scott will be allowed to accompany me.”

He phrased it as a statement but it was definitely a question a request. “Of course they will. Say yes Stiles, please… do not deny this.” The way Derek said his name was the last thing he expected to turn his decision but it did. He emphasized it so… longingly, making everything in Stiles unable to deny him anything in that moment. He nodded slowly and Derek smiled at him. “Good.” He just stood there then, staring at Stiles for a long time, before the prince cleared his throat. “I should go, you need to rest. Lydia was hoping you could join us for breakfast,” he threw in eagerly as he made his way to the door, pausing just short of it. “If you don’t feel up for that in the morning, I won’t hold it against you,” he said giving the man a choice so he didn’t feel cornered or dictated to, so he wouldn’t have any reason to change his mind about running with the court of England. He shot Stiles one more look before turning and leaving his chambers.

Stiles let himself ease back down until he was lying stretched out again. He brushed long tendrils of hair from his face and sighed, his eyes glowing as he did so, a purely emotional reaction, as he thought of Derek. The King of England, coming to his room and asking him to join the run at the full moon. The whole thing seemed like a dream he was having. A dream, not so much a nightmare anymore. When had things changed, when had he become partial to Derek Hale.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do what I can people. Things have begun happening and now I am on my way to school to get my bachelor's. Ergo I haven't had much me time for the last few weeks. Anyway I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Stay tuned for the next one.


	11. Inevitability

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh guys guys guys, let me count the ways.... I love you all for being supportive and sticing with me in this big lull that I personally like to think of as the off air time between seasons of a show lol. I moved to Canada on the 1st of May and now I'm working full time and going to school full time and pressing my music career as well as working on finishing my novel. Needless to say its a lot. But my fanfics mean a lot to me as do all the people who read them. So here's the next chapter, hope you love. We're coming to a turning point as you'll see so hang in there, that slow burns about to flare.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           The sun was dimmer, the sky a paler blue. The winds seemed to blow lightly against unresponsive trees as though they were being defiant for the sake of it. The town didn’t sing out beneath the castle as it usually did, filled with the hustle and bustle of Scots going about their errands from day to day. It was as though the entire country had lost its soul and was simply coasting until he would return. Prince Germin Stilinski. Stiles.

Edinburgh Castle was quiet, unusually so. The king had suspended all non-emergent matters indefinitely. Servants moved about quietly, barely gossiping as there was nothing left to gossip about. Or they had simply lost interest for the moment. Nothing was as it was or should have been and everyone knew the reason why. Stiles was so much more than a prince to these people. He was their joy, their peace and their happiness.

The king was silent as he moved seemingly aimless through corridors and up flights of stairs until he could feel the soft caress of cold wind brushing against his naturally hot tempered skin. The doors leading out onto the ramparts of the west wing tower were open wide. There was a light mist lingering out there, but through it he could make out the billowing skirts of a woman’s dress dancing around her as she stood there, supported by the stone of the crown shaped edge wall.

John had known Marin far better than to simply walk up to her and disturb whatever she was in the middle of which was clearly something. This was the first time he’d noticed that mist and it was far too eerie to have been naturally formed. Instead he leaned against the frame of the door and watched expectantly, as though something magnificent was about to happen.

The druid woman had been standing there for what seemed like mere seconds but must have been longer. She’d been seeking after something, carrying around a feeling within her that unsettled her deeply. She’d needed a space to force that feeling into providing a seeing for her. It had worked. Almost the moment she’d stepped onto the ramparts and looked over the edge of the stone wall, she slipped inside herself and the visions danced before her eyes. Mist had formed and birthed pictures she tried as hard as her years of training and experience would allow to follow each and every one of them without grasping too harshly at one specific image. She’d learned the hard way what it meant to have the gift of sight. The amount of uncertainty foresight carried.

Most assumed seeing the possible futures was cut and dry, an easy endeavor but it was hardly that. It was a science, something you worked at. It was deciphered through legends and keys and the maintenance of an open mind. One had to remember that a vision was often crafted with metaphor and imagery, one thing to represent another so that nothing was ever exactly what it might seem to be. As the mist cleared she felt the presence behind her and sighed inwardly, knowing instinctively who it was. King John, waiting for her. He would know her well enough to know not to interfere or at least when he shouldn’t interfere. He’d also known her well enough to know when he might venture an approach which he already started for.

“Lady Marin,” he called, his deep, gruff voice soft, mimicking a child’s innocence.

“King John,” She replied equally as soft. She took the moment to quickly steel herself before turning to him.

“Why have you come to this place?” he questioned moving forward slowly. His eyes roamed the area, the ramparts. It was a place he’d come often but not for himself, never for himself.

“I needed a connection to your son. The sense of him is strong here.”

“Have you seen something new?” he questioned again, a hopeful note in his voice, but she knew it wasn’t a hope that she’d seen something new, but a hope that she would share the vision. Marin tilted her head and frowned at him, to which he raised his hands in mock surrender. John moved forward again until he stood next to her, separated by a scant few inches.

“This was his favorite place you know.” John looked down to her and then turned away, moving forward and out of her way towards the wall. He placed his palms down on the cold stone and took in a deep breath. Almost instantly he could hear the voices from his memories of times long passed. Hear the laughter of a happy family. Hear the hope for a future not littered with blood and bodies and ravaged by war. “My son.” He let the words glide out on his breath and stared into the black of night, almost as if he was looking for his face there, in the shadows. “He used to love this place, being high up above everything else, almost touching the clouds yet still so far from the sky. The wind blowing his hair back in its breeze, his mother and father at his back. He always was reassured in this place, it’s why he would come here, why he would ask us to take him when he was still too young to be trusted with his own adventurous nature.”

“You speak of him as though he’s already passed from this world.” Marin declared the words, a soft warning to the man.

“I speak of him as though he is no longer within reach. Am I wrong?” John dared not turn round and see a glimmer of anything in eyes he knew couldn’t hide the truth from him forever. Marin didn’t reply. The king nodded to the unanswered, yet answered question. “I have come to grips with the current situation Lady Marin, you need not coddle me. But I will stop asking.”

He felt the hand on his shoulder then. Petite and warm, piercing through the all-encompassing cold that had settled in his skin for days now. “Do not give up on your son. He may be out of reach for the moment but he is not lost John. Believe in me even by smallest measure.” Her voice was so earnest it almost brought tears to the king’s eyes. He turned and took her hand in his as he did so. His large one covered her smaller hand so completely. He brought her fingers to his mouth and placed a soft kiss there, an action that made her start as she hadn’t expected it.

John smiled to her, “You mistake me my lady, I do not doubt that you are looking after my boy in whatever mystical way you can. I only accept that until it is required I can have no part in keeping him safe. I understand and accept this because I trust you with his life. I know you will not disappoint me.”

When he pulled away and relinquished his hold on her she almost stumbled backward a half step and watched the king disbelievingly. “Do not disappoint me Marin,” with that the man nodded to her and offered one parting smile before he left her to her devices.

She’d always known of his particular affection for her. She’d always had her own affection for him but nothing could ever come of it. His kiss had startled her because as carefully constructed as her emotional barriers were, he had the tools to send it tumbling down. The druid priestess turned her mind from what had just transpired and concerned herself once more with her seeing and more importantly what it was most likely to mean. She had to get a message to her eyes in the English court. The prince’s life would depend on it.

 

***

“You’re unusually quiet…” Danny offered up softly, his gaze settling on Stiles astride the horse before him. There was no reply. The prince hadn’t spoken much the entire day. He’d woken up seeming distant, been dressed, had breakfast with the future queen and her king and spent the rest of the day quietly moving from one place to the next, one task to the other. Scott too had noticed and silently worried about where his friend’s head was at. He and Danny shared a look before he turned forward once more.

“Stiles,” he called, “Stiles!”

The shout jarred the Scottish prince from his thoughts. He turned back quickly smiling but it was faint. “What is it?” he queued.

“You’ve been deathly silent my friend. I now you well enough to know there’s far too much going on in your head. Even Danny can sense something wrong..” Scott sounded almost pleading as he stated his facts.

“I do not know what you would have me say,” Stiles uttered as he turned back. His voice was so low, if their hearing hadn’t all been enhanced, the others wouldn’t have heard him at all. “I am fine, mostly..”

“Mostly,” Daniel pointed out. “Why only mostly then. I thought this would make you happy, you decided we should go.”

Stiles winced internally. The words weren’t an accusation but in his own mind they’d come off that way.

“Stiles if you don’t think this is the best idea I think we would both be more than happy to turn around…” Scott gestured to himself and Danny even though Stiles hadn’t bothered turning back.

“No, we go,” he said adamantly. I haven’t shifted in far too long. Danny you haven’t shifted since you’ve been assigned to me. And Scott I couldn’t deny you your freedom.”

“Stiles you are my family. You are my prince. When you’re free so am I, don’t forget that.” Stiles shot him a smile and a nod of acceptance and thanks.

“I appreciate the sentiment old friend but it is unnecessary here. I want this, I have just been dealing with some things today.”

“Perhaps you finally see as the king does where you’re concerned.” Stiles glanced back again with pursed lips and dark eyes, a look of fake threat.

Scott raised his hand in mock surrender, but laughed as he did so. “Deny it as you like but I think you and I both sense the shift in that man. You probably more so than I.” Stiles’ horse slowed and halted forcing the others to stop as abruptly as he did. The path they had been trotting along was equal parts of dirt and stone. They were moving through the forest to the far end opposite the King’s castle. The light was slowly fading in the sky and soon the moon would be at its highest and brightest. The prince’s eye settled on a few horses moving steadily, far ahead of him and his men.

“He visited me last night.” The words were whispered against the soft blowing breeze of nature. Scott’s brow arched as he turned to Danny to exchange another look.

“But I was with…” Scott started but Stiles cut him off.

“It was after you’d left me. He’d been there, listening to us… to me.” Stiles spoke so softly, almost reverently of the moment that had been buried in time and darkness.

“What happened, did he…” Scott moved forward on his tall black steed, positioning himself adjacent his friend so that he could look him in the eye, suddenly filling with ferocious protective need. “Did he hurt you?” His own words fell a few octaves to a tone Stiles knew only too well was reserved for those who were sure to meet Scott’s torturous retribution.

Stiles shook his head quickly and pat Scott’s hand from across the distance separating them. “No no, not that. He wouldn’t do that to me.”

Scott looked deep into his prince’s eyes and allowed himself to settle, allowed the dark fury that had begun to gather in him to dissipate. “You say that with such certainty my friend.” Scott offered it suggestively.

There was something that passed between the two of them. A reluctant understanding, acceptance, surrender. “He asked me to join the shift then,” Stiles admitted matter-of-factly.

“You said he invited you at breakfast…” Danny tossed in.

“I lied.”

“This place is certainly not doing much for your character, what with all this deceit, and to your own friends...” Scott laughed it off but he could see Stiles was having difficulty with whatever he’d truly start coming to terms with in his mind.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles finally admitted on a harsh expulsion of breath. He kicked off, moving at a snail’s pace on the horse, the others following pace behind him. Danny and Scott looked at each other once more. Both of them knew, both of them understood. Somehow, it seemed as though they were all just waiting for Stiles to deal with the truth himself and admit it.

They continued on in silence moving toward the center of the forest. Along the way, they passed several groupings of people, either astride horses or walking alongside them toward the same place. As they slowed coming up on their destination they noticed the king’s entourage but not the king himself. Stiles halted a good distance away and turned the horse, bringing it and them closer to a tall solitary looking tree which was a bit odd in the middle of a forest. As he swung his leg over the side of the horse he felt hands on his waist and immediately settled into them with just the smallest hint of protest, assuming they were Scott’s.

With a slow forming smile he spoke, “I have not needed you to dismount a horse in ages I do not know why you can never relinquish your need to assist…” He trailed off into silence as he turned and his eyes met the powerful yet lightly amused gold, green and hazel of Derek Hale’s. “Lord King,” he uttered taken aback. Stiles tried not to notice the way everyone around them seemed to stop what they were doing to take note of what was going on between the king and his charge. Scott and Danny stood near their horses, unsure of what to do to aid Stiles in what was surely an odd experience for him.

“My prince, apologies if I offend with my careless concern,” Derek offered with a slight bow of his head and half bend of his body. “I only sought to ensure your safety.”

“Safety… in climbing down a horse’s side, I assure you Lord King I have done it enough times to be able to get by quite well on my own, no assistance required.” Stiles spoke the words calm and majestic with his head inclined and his chin raised a bit. Derek only smirked at him an intolerable amount.

The king leaned in closer without seeming too intrusive, to others, as for Stiles everything he did was intrusive. “I yearn for the day when you call my name, your formality feels tragic.” Stiles’ eyes widened, clearly affected by the words which to him seemed far too personal to explain.

“I..I.. perhaps the day you stop being uh king then all your other wishes will be taken care of.”

“We must thank you again your grace,” Scott butted in as the best friend anyone could ever hope for. Stiles was certain he’d run out of witty remarks to fend Derek off with. “My prince and I have not ran in some time, and given the circumstances, the gesture is greatly appreciated.”

Derek half turned his head to where Scott had moved closer to them but his eyes did not stray from Stiles who was finding it just as hard surrendering the gaze. “You are welcome. I decided it was best to ensure Stiles’ full health and happiness was seen to.” With one more brief smile he took a few steps back and spoke up so all could hear him. “Come all, gather round. The moon rises to its peak in the sky and we come together once more to revel in our power, in our gifts. Tonight we run through the forests of our land, reclaiming them once again in the name of our ancestors, in the name of our past rulers, and in the name of your present king.” He tossed his head back and let out a deep rumbling howl that echoed throughout the forest, shaking branches and vibrating through wood. Bringing leaves dancing through the light breeze of the night to the ground that rumbled as much as Derek’s roar did.

All the wolves in the forest ‘were’ and otherwise tipped their heads back and did the same, including Stiles who for all his fight couldn’t ignore an alpha’s call. His eyes flashed green as he closed them and cried out his begrudging agreement. When the howling ceased Derek’s hands went briskly to his clothing, two men on either side of him, rushed to help unfasten buckles and undo buttons until all that remained on him was his trousers and the King’s seal pendant around his neck so all could identify the king in his wolf form.

Stiles couldn’t help but fasten his gaze ever so tightly on Derek as he, with aid, unveiled himself. Hazelnut skin so smooth in some places and then bunched up into tight folds of muscle in others, it held the prince’s attention like nothing else could. The king was picturesque. Tall, broad-shouldered, hard bodied like temptation of sin itself. He watched Stiles watching him and smiled, a small slip of a thing more to himself than anything else, an acknowledgement of his small measure of victory. He grasped the waistband of his trousers and slowly tugged them down so that his lower body revealed itself.

Stiles heard the breath hitch in his throat, felt the beating of his heart transition to a wicked pounding he was certain all the other wolves were listening to, not that any but one of them mattered. He tried to avert his eyes but the pull of the man’s body was far too much. His small waist, pelvic bones and then his throbbing manhood sprung free of his trousers which made one wonder how he managed to fit such a powerfully large thing into such a restraining contraption. As the fabric dropped to the ground and Derek stepped out of it, his penis bounced around, drawing further attention to itself. Stiles licked his suddenly dry lips and turned around.

The action made the king want to laugh but he managed to maintain his composure. He raised his hands in a gesture of invitation and everyone around him began removing their own clothing. Lords and ladies secured their garments and stood awaiting the king’s next move. Stiles sighed before bringing his hands to undo his own clothing. Being naked in public was no big thing for him or anyone else for that matter, not when your heritage was wolfkind. But being naked in front of Derek Hale was a much different thing, one that Stiles wasn’t certain he was prepared for, not when the king’s eyes made him feel as if all others in their presence simply disappeared and no one else existed, but it was too late now to undecide this course of action. Danny and Scott went to him as was their duty and helped slowly undress him.

Derek’s smirk faded into nothing when Stiles started shedding his layers. This time it was the king’s breath that caught in his throat when he saw what Stiles looked like without all those clothes on. He was beautiful. He was blessed with creamy skin, smooth and delicate yet an aura of immense strength bathing him.  His arms sported tight bulges that suited his body type and his chest was defined while his stomach sat flat on him. Derek’s eyes flashed unconsciously, his desire flaring so that everyone around him close enough to scent it, smelled the lust coming off his body and those who couldn’t tell by smell saw the way his cock twitched every now and then as he held desperately to some semblance of self-control.

Stiles removed his trousers himself which brought him bending over at which point Derek simply turned away, realizing that the grating noise he was picking up was the growling coming from his own throat. With no further delay, he glanced to the moon and let the transformation wash over him. He could feel the change lie a thousand needles tickling at the sensitive flesh beneath the surface. His body contorted as hair sprouted all over him, as he resized and reshaped so that his head grew its snout and his hands and feet became paws. Black fur covered the wolf that now stood large and tall in Derek, the man’s place.

Everyone in the woods followed suit until the grandest pack of multicolored, multi-sized wolves stood about pawing at the ground, nuzzling each other and waiting on their alpha king to kick off the run. Stiles was the last to turn as Danny and Scott in wolf form stared at him expectantly. Danny was a grey wolf with black fur on his ears and paws, while Scott’s fur was silver streaked in places with black. As Stiles turned his bright emerald green eyes shone, piercing through the dark as white fur pure as snow itself covered his transformed body. He butted Scott in the side with his body and tossed his head to a side.

Derek looked over at him, awed by how breathtaking his wolf form was, by how unique and gorgeous his eyes were, green like nothing else he’d known. No other wolf’s eyes had ever been green before to Derek’s knowledge and white fur on werewolves was incredibly rare. Derek tore his scarlet eyes from Stiles and howled once more before taking off deeper into the woods with all those who had come following their wolf king.

Boyd ran along the left hand side of the king, keeping his eyes open as a good servant would. His blue black fur was slicked back by the dew he’d been running through in the tall grass. His head snapped to a side when he caught a glimmer of shimmering silver light. There was nothing there but he remained wary. Several more times a dancing silver stream of light shimmered on the periphery of his vision until he noticed a silhouette beckoning him in the shadows. Stealthily he slowed down until he was distanced from the king enough to break away without suspicion.

Boyd galloped away from the running pack into the forest following the shapely specter to a stream that bubbled and flowed peacefully in the night. The silver ghost walked right into the water and simply descended beneath its lapping waves and popping bubbles. The wolf padded over to the stream and peered inside but was greeted not by his own reflection, but that of the woman he served in all things. The mistress of the druid people and lady of the crystal cave.

He grumbled at the water as he couldn’t speak in this form, but she understood him nonetheless. “You must be cautious my friend, our young prince is in danger.” She doled out the information quickly, without pretense. “I have had a seeing. Direct the king to his path now more than ever, I fear he is the only one who will be able to protect prince Germin now. Be vigilant. Whatever this danger is, it is close and it is coming though I cannot tell yet when.”

Boyd nodded, an awkward action for a wolf to act out but it was a man beneath that flesh. Marin’s hand gestured for him to leave and so he did, running at his top speed to track down the prince and king and push them once more together.

Stiles, Danny and Scott had broken off from the main pack at Stiles insistence. The less time he was forced to spend with Derek the better off he thought he’d be. They’d got off to a quieter part of the forest and simply ran about enjoying each other’s company and reveling in their ability to run free in their wolf forms. Scott suddenly, came to a halt, his ears cocking up and his body going completely still. Danny eyed him curiously and then turned mimicking the action. Stiles tried to move past Scott to where he was staring but the wolf barked at him viciously and kept sidestepping ahead of him to keep the prince back.

A twig snapped and it was then they finally saw what lurked beyond the shadows. A large wolf with pitch black fur padded its way out of the darkness. It’s large red eyes glowed brightly as it inspected the others and the situation it had walked into. His canines, bared as they were, dripping with saliva as the soft rumbling echoed from his throat ceased and retracted almost as if he recognized the wolves before him. Stiles took a step forward and cocked his own head to a side inspecting the new addition. He noticed a scar to the side of the wolf’s eyes and at once barked his recognition. Stiles turned back to Scott and gestured to the scar which his friend scrutinized himself. Scott too barked and walked over to the wolf who did somewhat of a bow as Stiles approached.

Then as though it were a meeting of old friends, they all hopped around each other nuzzling and playing. Their fun was short-lived though. A growling emanated from the opposite side and as they’d turned over, they could see the vicious guise of the alpha king making his way towards them with Boyd at his side and several others to his back. Stiles knew instantaneously what it was that had incurred the king’s wrath. He immediately stepped away from the familiar wolf he and Scott were greeting but that had only created and opening for the king to jump in and place himself possessively in front of the prince.

The familiar wolf growled only to be drowned out by Derek’s louder more guttural and bloodthirsty growling. Stiles barked at the new wolf to stop. He looked at the prince confused but stopped altogether. Derek tossed his head back and howled and all the wolves nearby bared their throats to him except the new wolf to arrive. He seemed to be looking to Stiles who yipped at him to do as everyone else. Instead, the wolf tried to take a step to Stiles causing Derek to strike fast. He lashed out quickly with fangs and claws ready to tear the new wolf’s throat out. Stiles barked at them both but neither paid him any attention. The two opposing wolves circled each other baring their teeth until Stiles roared at Derek who just barely glanced at him, but the moment the king looked to the prince, Stiles took off, running away at top speed in the hopes that Derek wouldn’t be able to resist his natural urge to chase him down.

The king hesitated for barely a second before he snarled at the new wolf and sprinted off after Stiles, chasing him down for quite a while before he would actually catch up.

***

The sunlight prickled at his eyes and prodded him into consciousness. He felt weighted down, restrained. It should have been uncomfortable but somehow Stiles felt at peace and at home in whatever binds he’d tied himself up in. It was warm and as soft as it was hard which was oddly perfect. He opened his eyes slowly, letting a little light in at a time. He struggled to turn into a position that would allow him to get to his feet. The sight he met forced his jaw to drop and his heart to explode into a drumbeat he wasn’t prepared for.

Stiles was wrapped up in the very naked king who appeared to still be asleep. Their legs were tangled, Derek’s arm was fastened around Stiles and neither of them had a stitch on. Stiles immediately panicked and in doing so transformed into a wolf once more, to wiggle his way free of the King’s hold. Once he was out, he took off running as fast as he could to track down his friends. He was barely out of sight when Derek opened his eyes and smiled to himself, lying there stark naked in nature’s bed, completely satisfied with himself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you all think peeps. Leave me some comments, if you thought it was lux, or if u think it sux. I don't care, just let me hear something. Love you guys  
> Kisses!!!  
> Desi


	12. Falling Into You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one finally, Hopefully the next TBAFWS chapter won't be far off from this one. Enjoy guys, it's one we've been waiting for. Only gets better from here.

Perhaps he knew he had to make a move, do something besides sit in a chair staring outside the window of his presently assigned chambers. Yes there was probably a lot to do however, the idea of moving seemed so impossible. If he moved then the world would come crashing into his sweet little escape and then everything that had happened would no longer be a minor avoidable issue. He could feel them staring holes into his back, his guards, his friends.

*

His mind flashed back to earlier when he’d come galloping through endless forest, sniffing them out in his wolf form. He’d barked into and bit at Scott’s ear to rouse him while Danny hopped up the moment he’d heard the rasping call of the white wolf. “Stiles?” Scott queued wiping the sleep from his eyes. Stiles barked at him again and then once more, cutting him off before Scott could ask what was going on. The prince wolf trotted forward and turned back to them simply to toss his head forward in an attempt to communicate his desire to leave the woods.

“Turn back Stiles,” Scott offered but the wolf shook its head and growled to them before turning forward and taking off at top speed. He never looked back to make sure the others were following not with all that was racing through his brain. Scott and Danny had briskly gotten things together, packed the horse saddles and gotten on to chase after the wolf they couldn’t hope to catch. By the time they’d gotten back to the castle walls Stiles was pacing back and forth in a circle at the tree line. Once he’d seen them he moved again padding his way down onto the pathway leading to the entrance. Daniel waved to the guard at the gate who let them through instantly, giving Stiles a strange look as he moved into the castle in full wolf form.

Stiles hadn’t stopped for a breath until he’d climbed all the way to his chambers pausing momentarily only so that the men accompanying him could open doors to let him through. He stepped in first followed by Scott and then Danny. As soon as the doors shut, Stiles reverted to his human form. Scott quickly tossed him his cloak which the wolf gladly took. “I need to bathe…” he muttered but of course the other two both heard him quite clearly.

“Wanna tell us what just happened?” Danny questioned but the prince simply repeated his first thought made sound.

“I need to bathe.”

Almost immediately Scott’s face lightened and he stepped in closer. A comforting hand rested on Stiles’ shoulder. “Hey what happened?” Stiles looked up at him slowly, the eye contact a mere second but that’s all Scott needed. “Let’s get you bathed then.” Danny turned to open the door to bring in the servants but Scott stopped him. “No,” he’d said, let’s just take care of this ourselves, he doesn’t need anyone else in his space right now.”

Danny nodded his agreement and moved to fill up the tub with water so Stiles could step in. Together, Danny and Scott washed the prince clean until he asked them to give him a moment. Grateful just to hear him speak, they both left the room so he could have some time alone. The water had become cold against his skin, that’s how he’d known he’d been sitting in the tub for a long while.

Stiles couldn’t remember when he’d decided to get out of it, but he had and instead wrapped himself in a robe and sat in the chair facing the window with his knees brought up to his chest so he could tighten his arms around them. When the boys had thought enough time had passed, they’d peeked into the room and saw him sitting there. They both entered and took up opposing positions on either side of the room and simply waited.

*

“I’m sorry,” Stiles uttered in the softest of tones that almost missed the ears of the other werewolves in the room. Danny’s head jerked and Scott balked at the sound and the words they enunciated. The man’s best friend moved instantaneously then stopped himself just as quickly knowing all too well how easy it would be for Stiles to shut down once there was physical contact.

“And what would you have to be apologizing for?” Scott asked trying to keep it subtle and safe.

“For this morning I.. I just couldn’t…”

“Hey,” Scott called, as Stiles began cutting off mid-sentence. “You listen to me now Germin Stilinski, Prince of Scots, I am yours to command as you wish so I move when you say or growl, either way works,” he added to see if he could prod a smile out of his sullen friend. “More than that, I am your friend, your person no matter what. I don’t care, what happened, as long as you are alright. I would like to know though, if you feel comfortable telling me, telling us,” Scott gestured to Danny, “because only if we know what’s going on can we really be of help no?”

Stiles looked up at him then and turned to the other side to glance at Danny who offered his most reassuring smile. Stiles tried to smile back but it was strained. He turned his gaze back to the dull neutrality of landscape as he began to speak. “I lay with the king last night.”

There was complete and utter silence in the room. Not a word, not even a breath managed to escape any of them until Scott got to his feet slowly. “You lay… with… why would you?”

“I don’t know, I can’t remember all of it. I just know that I woke this morning in his arms and neither of us were clothed.”

Danny and Scott exchanged looks, Scott’s more reluctant worry and Danny’s more surprised and thoughtful. “Perhaps you did nothing and all of this fear is unwarranted.

“Did nothing,” Stiles snapped. “I woke this morning with the king of England’s cock pressed against my arse. Do you really believe that we did noting last eve. Because I certainly don’t.” Stiles sighed and relaxed against the pretense of comfort from his chair. “Apologies Daniel. I can’t believe this is happening.” His hand went to his face barring it from view.

“My prince, please do not fret unless it is absolutely necessary.” Danny began, stepping forward until he was at Stiles side and kneeling there, one hand massaging a circle on Stiles arm. “Only alphas ever retain most of their memory when in wolf form especially on a full moon and for the rest of us it takes years to achieve that kind of recovery. For all you know neither of you engaged in any… carnal acts.” Stiles let his hand droop a little so he could catch the confident look Danny was giving him.

“Why did you run off with him in the first place?” Scott asked, pacing behind the prince’s back, clearly less reluctant to believe Danny’s theory. “I remember you making him chase you, which was hardly a good idea by the way but I can’t…”

“Koda!” Stiles shouted. Jumping to his feet.

“What?” Scott asked turning suddenly.

“Koda, Scott. They’re here, I remember if I hadn’t gotten Derek away he would have fought Koda.”

“Speak of the devil…” Scott said as he approached the window and caught what had gained Stiles’ attention so abruptly bringing that old Irish devil to mind. A small group walked toward the castle walls with their horses beside them. They were a statuesque bunch with long flowing dark hair and solid builds. Bodies of those who lived and grew up among the hardships of the forest. “I remember now they showed up in the forest last night…” Scott finished his thought as Stiles sprang into action.

“I need to get dressed, help me,” the prince called as he scrambled to get clothes on. Danny rushed to his aid with Scott on his heels.

“Why do you sound so…”

“Afraid,” Stiles offered and Scott nodded in answer. “They are Irish royalty, Scotland may have sovereignty over their land but that does not relinquish their title or worth. If the king finds out who they are he could keep them prisoner here like he’s kept me.”

Scott’s face changed, identifying the grim truth in Stiles’ eyes. All jokes set aside, Derek could very well take the Irish royals prisoner and hold them as more leverage over Scotland’s king. Scott helped the others get Stiles dressed and as soon as the last item was fitted snugly in Stiles set off with his guards at either side. Nobles and officers watched as they moved briskly passed them through the halls of the castle until they arrived at the entrance and burst through.

“I see no royal seals about you.” A knight called who’d been talking with another soldier at the gates.

“Stop!” Stiles yelled as he capped his run and powerwalked over to the foreigners and the king’s men. “Wait please let them through.”

“I take no orders from the king’s ward!” the man declared his voice gruff with disdain.

“Then what shall you tell the king who’s fondness of me increases every day when he comes to sort out my complaint of your clear dismissal of my request. Lest we forget our places here as I, though a ward am still a prince, a royal. Certainly he won’t be too happy with one such as you who would deny that which would increase my comfort and peace of mind which is all the king seeks to provide or so he’s said to me. Perhaps he is a liar then because you make him so. Or shall I ask him myself if his men would make a liar out of their king?” Before Danny could open his own mouth to make a case for the foreigners, Stiles’ words were swift, whipping the knight with each syllable until his eyes were wide with fear and reluctant acceptance that he’d lost that round.

“Very well,” the knight surrendered after a long silence. “Who are these people then?”

“I’ve already…” One obvious Irishman with a prominent scar on his face began but Stiles cut him off with a look.

“They are emissaries from Ireland, friends of the royal family there and devout in their service of nature’s teachings. They travel to many lands bringing greetings and blessings from the mother earth.” This time he surprised even himself with his fast thinking and ability to pull complete nonsense out of nowhere and make it sound believable.

“These two,” the knight pointed on the largest of the men, “Naturists?”

“Do you not believe that we could serve the great mother, for it is our own heritage you mock man,” The one in front spoke up playing along with Stiles quick served lies.

“Then why did you claim to be nobles of Irish court? That is a treasonous offense.” The knight pressed further hoping to catch them in some kind of deceit.

“We are considered nobles at Irish court,” said the woman who travelled with them. She was as tall as the men and even taller than a few of them with the blackest hair of them all. It was long and flowing and almost glittered like black diamond.

“If you require a higher power to settle this problem I suggest you send someone to find the king and bring him here and then you can explain to him your stubbornness.” Stiles dropped the final blow effortlessly pinning the man with an evil glare to add to his worry that Stiles would truly ensure trouble find him.

“It is fine, let them pass.” The man signaled to the officer to move away and he did, allowing the group through. There were four men and one woman. The first two men walked straight for the young prince and his best friend and stood squarely before them, towering over them almost.

“Laochra le chéile go maith.” _Well met warriors._ The men who were identical in most every way spoke in unison, the Irish greeting.

“Sláinte agus bás maith mo dheartháireacha,” _Health and a good death my brothers._ Both Stiles and Scott answered. The one who’d spoken before to the knight leaned in and took Stiles almost roughly in his arms, before picking him off the ground and dancing twirling him about as if he weigh nothing at all. Stiles grasped the man as tightly as he himself was held and yelped a little when he was jerked off the floor.

“Prionsa Beag le fear tar éis fás cén pléisiúr tugann sé dom a bheith shiúil ar tú sna foraoisí Béarla, cé go mbeidh gá na cúinsí comhrá.” _Little prince to grown man what pleasure it gives me to have stumbled upon you in the English forests, though the circumstances will require a conversation_.

“Tá mé overjoyed a fheiceann tú cara ró-shean, ní mór dúinn a labhairt an teanga coitianta sna tailte cé. Cuir dom síos madra fáin.” _I am overjoyed to see you too old friend, we must speak the common tongue in these lands though. Put me down stray dog._ He lashed the man’s back playfully and waited for his feet to connect with the floor before he leaned in and whispered, “Caithfidh ár mhalartú focail a dhéanamh go príobháideach, nach bhfuil sé sábháilte duit anseo. Tá sé fiú níos mó contúirteacha a imirt le liom mar seo anseo, go háirithe nach bhfuil i láthair an ríogh.” _Our exchange of words must be done privately, it is not safe for you here. It’s even more dangerous to play with me like this here, especially not in the king’s presence._ As he pulled away he felt the man’s lips press firmly to his forehead and noticed out of the corner of his eyes that the brother had embraced Scott just the same.

“Duke enough,” Scott complained, playfully swatting at the man’s face.

“Koda, Deucalion, it’s been quite some time,” Stiles smiled still holding onto Koda’s arm.

“Too much time Stiles, Scott, Ireland misses your antics.”

“You say that as if you’ve been there anytime soon. You’ve been travelling for years, never seeing the need to return so long as your father carries the title of king,”

“Hardly a meaningful title since he joined hands with Scotland and elected your father as overlord,” Koda spoke loudly and gruff almost disapprovingly but Deucalion smacked him hard on the head though Koda barely flinched.

“Don’t let his tone fool you hóga iathghlas, he appreciates not having to lead the country…”

“Just this small brood will do,” Stiles finished for Deucalion, “and don’t call me that. I haven’t been a pup for a long time.”

Koda threw his arm around Stiles shoulder and pulled him closer. “You will always be my emerald pup.” At that Stiles growled and flashed his wolf’s eyes making Duke and Koda laugh loudly. “I have travelled the world over and have not yet found eyes that light green like the jewels in a king’s coffer.”

“What’s this!” came a different gruff voice, but this time the malice was definitely intended. Stiles immediately pulled away from Koda until they were physically separated. Danny and Scott bowed their heads as the king made haste to stand between Stiles and Koda.

“Lord King,” Stiles bowed his own head as he spoke softly, eyes averted and heartbeat rising violently.

“It’s you again, the wolf from last evening. A wolf who does not belong to my court which makes you not English and certainly not one of my men so who are you and why should I let you keep your head after invading my borders without permission.” By the time he was done speaking his eyes were glowing crimson and his teeth had begun to lengthen.

Koda flashed his own scarlet eyes and glanced momentarily at Stiles who’d tried to fit a plea to follow his lead into his eyes. “Naturists, good king of England. We bring blessings from Ireland.”

“You do not look like any naturists I’ve ever seen before.”

“I assure you Lord King, they are as they say…” Stiles tried but Derek cut him off.

“Then why were his hands upon you as though he intended harm?”

Stiles rolled his eyes quickly before answering, “This is Koda and Duke.” Stiles began using the names he knew nobles wouldn’t recognize of other nobles. Otherwise Derek was sure to know the names of the Irish princes, considering their striking appearances and twinship. “When my father traveled to Ireland I often played with these men, when they were just boys. They are close to the royal family and are close friends of my own family. That is why we are so… familiar. They only seek a short rest before they make their way back home. Will you allow it?”

Derek stepped forward further to inspect the men. They were tall standing at about six feet for the least with sculpted faces and an air of class about them. They were exactly similar to Derek in every physical way right down to the shared scar slashing across both of their left eyes. “That’s quite a distinctive scar you two share, I can’t imagine it was easy to come by, identical on both of you…”

“King Hale!” Stiles let out forcefully, drawing the man’s attention to focus completely on him. Derek turned immediately and looked into Stiles eyes. For the first time they both saw something there they’d never seen before. Stiles saw a desperation, a yearning and a weakness he wouldn’t match with Derek Hale any day. As for Derek he saw a softening, an opening for him as small as it was and that more than anything else, assuaged his anxiety and tempered his anger. In that single moment all he’d wanted to do was reach out and pull Stiles against him hard and not let him go. “Will you allow it?” Stiles asked again, almost begging, almost.

“You are welcome to three days of English hospitality, but this is a precarious time and it wouldn’t do for Irish nationals to get hurt while within my custody, and as I cannot guarantee your safety that is the best I can do.” He addressed the Irish but he never turned back to them, never took his eyes from Stiles as though he was delivering a hidden message. Stiles seemed to understand because his face ripened quickly and his heart sounded as though it would explode.

“Thank you good king,” Deucalion responded.

“I trust Lord McCall with the aid of Cromwell can get you situated. Perhaps now is best, while I speak with the prince of Scots.” All eyes shifted from Derek to Stiles each glance filled with concern.

“Perhaps we may speak another time I am not feeling to well at the moment and would prefer some rest…”

“Leave us,” Derek barked, overriding Stiles. Danny began moving but no one else did, their fealty sliding automatically to the young prince. Stiles looked to Scott and nodded signaling that they should take off. Scott reluctantly nodded in agreement and turned to gesture to the Irish brood. As soon as they were gone with their slow pace, and backward glances, Derek began slowly walking, turning back once to jerk his head forward after noticing Stiles hadn’t moved. “Walk with me, please.” Silently, Stiles did as instructed.   

They walked in silence together for a moment with Derek constantly looking down at the man at his side. “I don’t mean to upset you,” Derek began.

“What gives you the impression I am upset?” Stiles responded.

“You would rather avoid me, you won’t look at me and you’ve hardly said a word and you haven’t scowled or grimaced at me in a while, I’m getting worried.” The king waited silently for the smile that crept up on Stiles face before he allowed himself to chuckle at his own good humor. Just then a child crashed into Derek and fell to the ground. As quick as anything, Derek was there on his own knees picking the boy up. He got a good look at him and let out a roaring laugh which surprised Stiles. “Gray Crispin what are you doing falling into the king of England, I should have you hanged for your crimes sir,” His voice was serious then but the smile on his face and the look in his eyes wasn’t.

Stiles watched the lad get to his feet and raise his wooden sword to the king. “Never,” he said, “You’d have to catch me first,” he shot back with a wicked grin.

“Alas you are quite right Mr. Crispin for I would make poor a match for your speed and effortless grace. What’s your mother doing letting you out of her sight?”

“Ma’s preparing for the banquet m’lord she told me to be constructive with my time so I came to practice my dueling,” to punctuate the boy did a little flourish of his faux sword.

“Careful there, young knight I wouldn’t want to be done in before I accomplish anything.” Derek faked fear as he gestured for Crispin to put down the sword. He clapped the boy on the back and then turned to Stiles. “This is my friend Prince Stiles Stilinski.”

“Hi there,” Stiles said jumping in instantly. He’d always felt at ease with children.

“Are you really a prince? I thought King Derek was the last prince in England… well before he became King I suppose.”

“Yes I am a prince, just not an English one,” the last part he spoke in the Scottish brogue he’d long learned to switch on and off depending on the region he was in and the accent they held.”

“Run along now Crispin and don’t hurt…”

“I won’t hurt myself I swear m’lord,” he groaned, cutting Derek short.

“Well I was going to see anyone else but that too applies.”

“G’day king Derek, g’day prince Stiles.” With a wave and another sword flourish he skipped off to be a young lad.

“You’re quite good with him…” Stiles offered easily as Derek began walking again, leading him off into wherever.

“His mother works in the kitchens, she’s a good woman who lost her husband and he’s a good lad who lost a father, I can relate.” His voice didn’t change but Stiles could sense the dark turn in him.

“I am sorry that you lost your father…” Stiles offered in a sincere tone in an attempt to earnestly push forward that he did mean it.

“I appreciate you saying that,” Derek answered. “I have a question of my own though if you would oblige me?”

“What is this foreboding feeling that has suddenly come upon me…” Stiles let out sarcastically before turning to Derek who was looking at him half seriously. “Please do ask, it wouldn’t be fair otherwise.”

“Why did you run from me this morning?” Derek’s tone held no heavy emotion Stiles could detect. It was simply even. He’d even turned from Stiles so the prince wouldn’t have to feel too caught off guard or under heavy pressure.

“I can’t… imagine what you mean?” he lied through his teeth.

“I wasn’t asleep this morning Stiles, when you woke in my arms, I’d been watching your peaceful slumber for more than a few moments. I heard your heartbeat change when you were waking and I simply closed my eyes but my own heart was a thunderous din I’m surprised you didn’t hear it and realize…”

“I…” Stiles stopped, his entire body refusing to go further. He immediately began looking for a way out by identifying their surroundings. They’d entered the castle and had been walking down one of the halls. From the looks of it, it was a back hall leading to the throne room.

“Before you stutter yourself into a sick bed, we did not… nothing happened. I chased you, caught you, we played about and then ran together until you were exhausted and collapsed in the forest. I couldn’t resist the natural instinct to lie next to you, warm you up and ensure you were safe through the night.”

“So we didn’t have…”

“No, I would not take advantage of you in any situation and I am personally offended that you’d think I would.” He did look offended. He looked hurt and it was suddenly too much for Stiles.

“I can’t do this right now,” he murmured as he turned on his heels and tried to walk away. Before he managed to get very far there was a hand fastening around his wrist.

“Don’t walk away from me. I’m tired of you always running in the other direction.” Derek sounded angry but there was more hurt in his eyes than anything. “Why do you deny it?” he demanded, placing himself squarely in front of Stiles so that his pure mass seemed to block off all routes of escape. He took a step forward and Stiles took a step back.

“Dddeny what,” the cornered prince mumbled, seriously affected by the king closing in on him.

“Deny what is happening between you and I?” the king took another step and so did Stiles.

“What could happen, nothing that’s what.”

“Not nothing,” another step pushed Stiles back against the wall and Derek’s hands were suddenly pressed on either side of the wall and pinning the prince between him and it, two hard places.

“Please don’t,” Stiles breathed harsh and ragged, like he could barely get control of his own breathing.

“Don’t what, my prince, don’t want you, even if I could I can’t think of how I’d convince myself not to. Don’t think of you every waking moment, my mind won’t allow it. Don’t dream of you every time I shut my eyes, those eyes of yours won’t allow that either.” Derek’s right hand moved from the wall to cup Stiles’ cheek the touch almost electrocuting them both with the power behind it.

“This isn’t right, this could never work,” he eked out grasping desperately for a lifejacket.

“Stiles…”

“There are too many things,”

“Stiles…”

“You’re betrothed to…”

“Stiles shut up and let me kiss you, for it is all I ask this moment, all I have thought about for a long time now.” The desperation in the king’s voice for him sent Stiles reeling. Derek leaned in but at the last moment after staring at that perfect mouth draw near, he turned away, denying the king access.

“I can’t let you… I’ve never been…”

“What is it,” Derek said leaning back and looking with near wide eyes, his tone infinitely patient. “Have you never been kissed.”

“No, if you must know.” He hissed the words lifting his chin belligerently, finding pride in the midst of his own anxiety and fear.

“That is nothing to be shy about my prince. For it would be the greatest honor I could be bestowed to be the first to touch this lips with my mine.” The prince’s eyes almost glazed over as he watched Derek in disbelief. The king took his chance then, moving in before Stiles could shore up his defenses. Derek leaned in and placed his lips gently against Stiles’.  Stiles’ lips were soft and warm. The feel of it was more than he could have ever hoped for. Something so chaste and barely there gave the man more pleasure than any carnal encounter he’d ever experienced.

Stiles slowly reacted, allowing himself to be lost in the moment. Gently Derek let his tongue slide from between his own lips and through Stiles’ own as they reluctantly parted to let him in. At that moment Derek became slightly more aggressive. His hand moved from Stiles’ face so that he could snake an arm around the man’s waist. Stiles’ palms rose to press lightly against the massive wall of the King’s chest as Derek, invaded him, his personal space, taking the first of is virginities and stealing his last breath along with it until Stiles thought he was surely dying.

“Derek,” he whispered against lips as Derek slowly pulled back, his glowing scarlet eyes opening just as slowly to see emerald ones glowing back at him. He smiled and placed another kiss to the prince’s lips, before kissing his cheek and then his forehead.

“I think that’s the first time you’ve ever said my name.” The shit eating grin on the king’s face was enough to melt Stiles’ heart and bring laughter rumbling to the surface. Reality was faster though, crashing down on him fast and hard.

“I have to go,” he said, turning out of Derek’s hands with preternatural speed. Before the king could stop him, he was almost running down the hall.

“Do you see,” Peter whispered into Lydia’s ear after pulling her back through the doorframe where they’d watched the royal tryst unfold. That boy is a problem for you and the future of this country as well as all of Europe. Something must be down, to end his bewitching curse on the king. Someone needs to save us all from him, before it is too late, and you are sent away, and shamed. Your family disgraced and your country dishonored.” Peter’s venom poisoned the woman’s mind until her eyes glowed with her building rage.

“What would you have me do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know the drill peeps, lay it on me with the feels and what ever else you got to say....
> 
> Desi


	13. A Queen's Power

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got something done. Full time school and work is kicking my butt but I try to make some special time for you special people who read my stories so I hope you enjoy this one.

The cool breeze blew the dark and light fabric of the drapes that hung partitioning the world from the princesses’ room. The space was wide and large as befitting royalty no doubt. Paintings hung upon the walls depicting scenarios and people from different times and they were all placed in ways that seemed each work of art held somewhat of a personal touch to them all.

Lydia breathed out sharply when cold air danced across her soft, supple and sensitive flesh. Goosebumps rose where he blew soft, wicked breaths against her skin. The cold breeze followed his lips and kisses so that every place his mouth touched was quickly treated to a whisper of cold that sent fire racing through her veins and straight to her untouched core which made her undergarments wet with her excitement. He kissed trails from the nape of her neck to her lips and licked his way into her mouth with no resistance. Lydia settled into the man’s arms, dressed only in her silken night garments, the feel of which only added to the intensity of forbidden desire she was experiencing. The same thing she always felt when she and Jackson were fortunate enough to have moments away from the judgmental eyes of the outside world.

The princess responded so readily to him, their lips melting together like they were one. When he reluctantly ended the kiss she reached palm up to cup his face as he tucked lost strands of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear. “I love you,” he admitted his face reddening slightly, as it always did when he bared his vulnerabilities to her. She smiled at him but her eyes were serious, they flashed gold and turned to the human green they naturally were and every bit as much love as he had for her shone there.

“I love you,” she offered pointedly. Then her eyes darkened as she turned her mind almost unconsciously to the harsh realities of their situation. “Why must I have been born into so high a station.”

“Why must I have been born so far beneath you..” Jackson responded evenly his eyes trailing away with his words.

“You are not less than I. Please remember that,” she pleaded with him, her hand holding his face as she forced his eyes to stay with hers.

“The world we live in tells a different story my princess. How can we hope to continue with this? We don’t speak of it but we must, at some point. I am the baker’s boy and you are the daughter of the king and queen. If we were ever found…”

“It would not end well I know.” She got off her bed tossing back the sea of sheets that tried to entangle them and sighed. “And I know we should discuss this but for right now can’t we just enjoy these moments.” She sighed and turned back to face him. The young man who had stolen her heart from a distance and then every day again since they’d started their little trysts. “Can’t we just live in the now while we have it.

Jackson was about to speak when Lydia’s handmaiden Rebecca ran into the royal quarters flailing her arms with a frightened expression on her face. She didn’t need to speak for Lydia to know what she was about to say. “My lady my lady,” she called, “your parents are coming to see you right now…”

Before she finished Lydia had already darted to Jackson and hustled him to the curtains partitioning her quarters from her balcony. He grabbed her and kissed her harshly before disappearing into the waving mirror of fine silks. The young princess barely had the time to turn around to see her mother and father, king and queen of Denmark strolling briskly into her quarters. She gathered her robes about herself and folded her arms over her bosom.

“Lady mother, my lord father,” she bowed slightly,” what brings you to me room so early this morn.”

“I have delightful news my daughter,” the king announced as he approached her. Heavy yet gentled hands took her by her shoulders and beckoned her up and closer so that he could plant a kiss on her forehead.

“What is it then that couldn’t pace its reveal until breakfast.” She smiled staring from mother to father, waiting as they glanced to each other and then back at her. The king looked ecstatic while her mother a bit less so which worried Lydia.

“The new king of England is quickly establishing his empire but he is yet without a bride. And with no queen at his side and no heirs on the way he and his position are forever vulnerable,” the king explained as he walked over toward the balcony. Lydia turned and watched him, her face ripening the closer he came to the closed curtains.

“Father!” she almost yelled, catching his attention and forcing him to turn back and focus on her, “ahem,” she cleared her throat and coughed. “What does all this have to do with us father? What’s the good news?”

“You my beautiful princess, you will travel to England, and you will be courted by the king and become his queen.”

The shock left her speechless for a while. Her jaw dropped and her eyes burned with the tears that itched to fall instinctively knowing she wouldn’t be able to get out of this. “Father please wait,” She pushed a harsh hand through her hair as she stepped closer to the king. “Please I don’t want this. I don’t know the man and I surely don’t care for him. Up until a few days ago you wanted nothing to do with England’s monarchy yourself now I’m to join them, why?”

“Oh sweet child, this is your duty. I thought you would be pleased. You will be the most powerful woman in the world.”

“That means nothing to me. I want to be able to marry someone I love or at least care for, or know. Don’t force me to England please.” She pleaded with her father her hands clasping as she stood just before him.

“Lydia,” the king uttered as he took her clasped hands in his own. “We are royals, our duty is to our people and our kingdom. We don’t always get to put ourselves first. This is important and it must be done.”

“No,” she cried pulling her hands from her father’s. “Mother,” she said turning to Queen Nathalie. “Please talk some sense into father you cannot do this to me, this is insane and I won’t do it.” Just then her father grabbed her shoulder, spun her to face him and let his hand come crashing down across her face.

“Speak that way of your king again and you will be punished far worse than you thought was possible. And don’t you ever turn to your mother to change my decisions. How selfish can you be? We are at war yet we do not have the forces to save ourselves from our enemy and Denmark will be collected like a bauble on Derek Hale’s necklace if we do not find some way to endear the entire country to him. Otherwise people will die, your mother and I will die perhaps you as well and someone else will be gifted our home to run on his behalf. This way we prove ourselves to him and save ourselves and our people. Can you not see that!”

The king took a few calming breaths and reached out for her, to touch her but she flinched at his approaching hand and he stopped. “I’m sorry for striking you as I did. But you must understand there are few choices in this life we were born into. All of us must do our part, even you.” He sighed, staring at the hand print on her face with regret. The king walked to her door to exit but paused for a moment to call back one last thought. “You will go to England and you will be courted and you will charm the king into choosing you officially. If this fails, we will be endangered and disgraced Lydia. You have only one option please do not disappoint me.” At that he took his leave leaving his daughter and wife.

“Why did you not speak for me?” Lydia questioned her mother.

Nathalie did not respond right away, she walked to her daughter, place a hand lightly on her reddened cheek and took her daughter in her arms. “I’m sorry child, but how could I speak out against an idea which was mine to begin with.” Lydia pulled away immediately.

“What?” she asked a look of horror firmly etched on her face.

“Yes daughter, it was I who placed this idea in your father’s head, and I who set him on the path, he simply believes it was all his doing. Always remember men need to believe that they truly are the authority for the loss of confidence is what truly damns a nation.”

“But how could you…”

“Send you away to be married to a man you do not know or love,” the queen cut her off, “darling that argument has been used for years by every woman who comes to find she truly has no choice without power and even then when a woman becomes powerful and gains the ability to make choices she must keep her freedom and independence secret. Lydia your father’s approach may have been wrong but he is right, we, are right. When I was your age I was more or less sold to your father, I didn’t know him or love him but I learned to because it was my duty. Lucky for me he was a good man. You see as a princess you are simply a pawn in your father’s game, to be used as he sees fit. I found a way to make this beneficial for you as well. Besides there are no other options. If you truly think about all this you will see. This decision saves the lives of many including your own.” She paused to evaluate the defiant expression on her daughter’s face. “I know you care for the kitchen boy but it must end.”

Lydia gasped when her mother made the statement. It was a slap in the face as she’d been so careful. “How did you..”

“I am queen my dear, I’ve learned where my power comes from and just how to keep it. Besides I’m your mother, did you really think I wouldn’t notice the signs. I will take my leave so that boy can come in from the cold but say goodbye and don’t see him again or there will be consequences.” The queen walked away without a second thought. Lydia turned as Jackson came through the curtains cautiously. The dam that held back her tears before suddenly shattered as she looked upon him for the last time. He reached for her to hold her and whisper assurances she knew were lies…

*

*

Lydia turned ferociously her eyes still glowing as Peter mused about how threats should be eliminated. “You would see me murder a fellow noble. I could never get away with something like that. And if the king is infatuated with him it will only end badly for me.”

“I have not said the words murder my lady, but tis not a bad idea. I only believe that as the betrothed of the king there are many who would die to ensure you sit on the throne. And die to keep any obstacles out of your way especially one as dangerous as Stilinski. Do not underestimate your sway with these people. They know you and love you. “

“What you are asking is too much”

“All I ask is that you think on how best to deal with this problem an do what sits well with you, but have the courage to do what must be done. Save your happiness from this thief who would steal it from you.” Peter’s words were almost hypnotic snaring the young woman until she was actually shaking her head to be rid of his words.

“No!” she yelled and tore out of the room after Derek. She caught up to him quickly as he tried to go after Stiles. “My king!” she called out and slowed her own pace when he stopped and turned back to see her approaching. Lydia let go of her skirts and adjusted her hair before stopping in front of the king and painting a smile on her face.

“Princess Lydia,” Derek said almost awkwardly, like he’d been interrupted at the wrong time, which she knew he was.

“Are you excited for our wedding?” She stepped into his personal space and tried to put her hands on his chest but he side stepped so quickly she nearly missed the action. It left her hands falling awkwardly through nothing and back to her sides.

“Of course I am,” he recited as if the words were merely rehearsed. She wondered then how long he’d sounded like that, how long she’d ignored her own instincts in favor of blind duty.

“As am I, perhaps we can discuss some final arrangements that should be made.”

“Not now my dear, I have a few important matters to attend before time is lost.” He tried to turn away but she stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm and another curious question.

“What business is it, perhaps there is something I can assist with. After all if I am to be your queen I must share the burden of the heavy crown you wear.” She said it in her most beguiling tone, her eyes softening and her finger tracing light circles on the king’s bare flesh.

“This particular burden is my own to bear and not so dire that I should find the help of my bride to be to settle the matter. Worry not Lydia. All is well.” With those words he took off leaving her standing in a pool of her own racing thoughts, bleeding out of her as though the victim of physical torture.

“Do you see princess? He slips away, faster than you can grasp. Something must be done.” Peter whispered against her ear as they watched Derek disappear down the hall.

*

Stiles walked into the King’s dining room, his eyes darting nervously about for the man in question. The room was empty except for the two servants at the table setting it and the guard at the door he’d come through. He turned almost abruptly, instinctively, as if he could sense it. Sure enough the king was standing right behind him, evaluating him, appraising him almost. Scarlet eyes looked down on him and he knew he was helpless the moment he’d connected with them.

“Leave us,” Derek ordered and all who stood within range of his voice stepped out of the room until he and Stiles stood facing each other, unmoving. It had been a few days since they’d last stood face to face, since they’d touch each other in unchanging ways. Days since the king had taken what he wanted, finally.

“Where is the queen to be?” Stiles asked in a strange tone that leaked his Irish accent. It was his nervousness, uncontrolled that made him lose his grip on his brogue.

“Have I told you how the way you speak, your native brogue sends fire rushing through my veins. From the moment I first heard it. Why do you hide it?”

“I asked you first, where is your betrothed?” Stiles remained adamant even though his heart fluttered and his face brightened in reddish hues.

“She’s about, she will join us shortly, which is why I don’t want to waste this brief time.”

“And what would you do in place of conversation?” the prince ventured but he knew what the answer would be.

“I want to kiss you again. And I think you want me to as well.” Derek smirked at him his eyes settling back to their entrancing rainbow of color.

“I want no such thing,”

“Is that what you’ve told your friends?” Derek queued as he stepped forward and further into Stiles’ personal space. The other man didn’t retreat, finding he couldn’t move his legs. “That you don’t want me. That I forced myself on you?”

“I haven’t said a word to anyone, I would only like to forget that this has ever happened. Surely there would be a battle on our hands should Scott, Koda and Duke find out what you’ve done…”

“What we’ve done, you mean,” Derek whispered as he placed a hand on Stiles arm and let it feather down to his hand until their fingers were brushing lightly against each other. “And what of this Koda, the naturist? Something tells me I shouldn’t approve of your… attachment to each other.” His other hand followed the first making physical contact with the prince and Derek could feel through his skin how his heart was exploding in his chest.

“It is none of your concern who my friends are Lord King,” Stiles uttered defiantly but his body betrayed him the way it almost leaned into the king and his ministrations.

“No don’t do that, I only long to hear you say my name again as you did before. Please?” He made it a question and his eyes almost killed Stiles with their adorable sincerity.

“Der…” He tried but the weight of emotion accosting him was too much. “This is wrong, we can’t just…”

“Can’t we, I am the king of England.”

“With a princess waiting to be wed to you and I am your prisoner…”

“Not anymore, I fear the tables have turned young prince. It is I who is under your command now, say my name…” he whispered as he leaned in lifting his hand to cup Stiles’ cheeks. His lips closed on the prince’s so easily, so naturally, as though they were made for this. And the prince let him. Stiles let him take his pleasure once again. Derek suckled gently on his lip, not once probing him too harshly with his tongue. The kiss was so delicate and sweet Stiles almost cried. It was his second and just as perfect as the first. As Derek pulled away he moaned.

“Derek,” he cried softly, his eyes shut tight and forehead pressed against the king’s. Somehow his hands had ended up on the strong wall of his chest. “This is dangerous,” Stiles whispered.

“Do you honestly wish me to stop?” Stiles sighed and shook his head slowly. Needing no further invitation his arms curved around Stiles’ waist and his mouth moved in for another possession. He kissed the prince more passionately this time so that their tongues entwined in the warm caverns of their mouths darting back and forth, rubbing against each other, dancing an intimate movement to a tune their bodies received on instinct.

When they pulled apart, Stiles was breathless and Derek looked like a hungry predator. He looked up then, his eyes darting quickly to the closed door. Stiles heard it to and immediately backed away from the king, moving to a seat far enough from him without being suspicious. Lydia walked through the door with her two ladies then. The expression on her face was of reigned in fury.

“My king I’ve heard a peculiar tale and wished to shed some light on it. Your advisors, informed me that our wedding is to be postponed?” She made it a pointed question as she glanced from Derek to Stiles and back.

“Yes well, I’ve been informed that it would be best to push back the wedding until all our guests are able to attend. There is a bit of a situation with one of my kingdoms and it must first be resolved before we can hope to be wed.”

“Hope to, but…” She began but Derek cut her off, his eyes going to Stiles first and flashing red.

“I’m sorry but you must excuse me. I can’t possibly enjoy this meal while there is so much to do. Please though, do sit and eat and let not my troubles extend to you.” He began walking immediately cutting off any protests either of them might have had. As he walked out he walked past Stiles and brushed his hand against the prince’s as if an addict seeking one last dose of his chosen opiate.

Stiles turned to Lydia and gave her a forced smile as he sat down to eat. Lydia and her ladies sat down all the while her eyes not moving from where they lay fixed on the prince who simply ate in silence.

“He has become quite taken with you…” she let out the open ended statement as if searching for a specific response.

“I am his ward, his prisoner.” Stiles replied a little desperately.

“You are foolish if you still believe that. Maybe you cannot yet leave this land but you are no prisoner in this castle. Some might say you have more power than I hold and I am meant to be his queen.” Lydia let out the words matter-of-factly, completely void of any malice or anger.

“I do as I am told,”

“No you do something else, I cannot yet figure out what but he is influenced by it.” Has anyone asked you about your wolf’s eyes?”

“What about them?”

“They are green. I don’t know what you’ve heard but I have not yet come across green wolf’s eyes beside yours.”

“I am aware, my eyes are different and rare,”

“Not rare prince Stiles, unique. No other possesses what you do, clearly in more ways than one. Some might even call your unique possessions enchanting like sorcery.” As Stiles looked up at her, after her response which spoke to more than just one thing, he had no idea what to say. Lydia rose from her untouched food and her ladies followed suit. “You play quite the game, but your disregard for the others involved and the natural order of things might find you more trouble than you desire.” She turned on her heels, her ladies following suit and walked out of the dining hall leaving Stiles to his barely touched platter and a mess of worries. “Find Peter Hale and tell him I wish to see the huntsman, now!” She issued the silent orders to her lady Amelia who simply nodded her response.

*

*

Lydia adjusted her hat as she stood in the courtyard outside the carriage that had parked a few feet ahead. Her mother stood next to her with a solemn expression on her face. Lydia began to take a step but her mother stopped her.

“I suppose your animosity to me cannot be so easily assuaged for what I have done but soon you will see my daughter. We must make a sacrifice, that is the life we lead.”

“Except I am to be your and father’s sacrifice,” Lydia responded sharply.

Her mother shook her head. “I will tell you something child, my last lesson to you before you take your life into your own hands. Men run this world we live in. That has yet to change but the difference between us and the unfortunate women who are trafficked from one predicament to the next is that we are royal and powerful enough to run the men who run the world. Lest you thought they did it all on their own. Some think men are the only ones with a mind for battle and strategy and state. No, men think with their egos and their cocks and are far more ruled by their emotion than we are. They think because we let compassion guide our hand it makes us foolish and unfit but they are wrong.” She stepped closer to her daughter and took her chin between thumb and forefinger so that she tipped Lydia’s head up to catch her eyes. “Let him court you, beguile him, entice him and keep his affection. Reward his loyalty and subtly punish his callousness and disregard. Be the queen he desires, be all he desires and when you are in his castle in that which would be yours, do not wait for a crown to secure your reign, or ascension. Talk to the people, make them love you, need you. Win his kingdom and then turn the women. Have the women turn the men, turn all their hearts to you and watch. Monitor the state, monitor his affairs step in where you must and never let anything threaten your future or your happiness. A man, no a king’s power is bold and obvious, loud and harsh sometimes painful,” she stroked her thumb across Lydia’s lightly bruised cheek were her father had struck. “But a queen, a queen’s power is in her grace and mercy, in her beauty and subtlety, in the shadows cast by her spies and the silence of her poisons. Never let anyone or anything stand between you and the chance to be untouched and never give up that power, that individuality for anyone.” Nathalie hugged her daughter tightly to her as the king approached. She whispered, “And play the parts they need you to. Pretend to be whatever they need, it makes guiding their hands that much easier, trust me.”

As she let Lydia go the king appeared at her side. “My daughter,” he called, “safe journey, I hope you can forgive what you believe to be my slight against you someday.”

Lydia turned from her father to her mother and then back, something dawning on her finally, as though her mother’s words were the last bit of a puzzle she couldn’t solve. She smiled, a soft, kind smile. “I understand father, and I can’t forgive you…” she paused as she took in his expression and the way emotion flashed behind his eyes. “For there’s nothing to forgive. We must all play our parts, I know this to be true.” She leaned in and embraced her father who hugged her back tightly. Her eyes fell on her mother who was smiling and understanding passed between the two women.

*

*

Lydia turned away from the open window and her thoughts of times passed as the double doors creaked open. Her two ladies and a tall, muscular gentleman entered. They all bowed except for the man who took a moment to look her over before half bowing. “You are the huntsman Dante of the borderlands? The one who hunts any living thing for the right price?”

“Aye milady, that’d be me. I can’t see why you’d want my services being a royal and all but what is it that I may be doing for ya?” He responded quickly, his hands feathering over his empty holster.

Lydia looked him straight in the eye as she replied, her eyes glowing amber as she let the words let out with an even yet underlying sinister tone. “There is someone standing in the way of my happiness. I need your help to remove them.”

 

 


	14. Blood On The Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends. Took me a helluva minute but here it is...

The door slammed hard behind him as he walked back into his quarters alone, or at least he thought he was. When he looked up from his thoughts he only then noticed how full the room was. Full of men he’d been keeping at a distance with what he believed to be good reason.  Ahead of him was Scott and Daniel, looking very strained and as though, they had been slightly defeated. Behind him, was Koda who’d closed the door and Deucalion sat off in a dark corner on his right.

Koda’s heavy arm fell onto Stiles’ shoulder as he ushered him along, deeper into the room until they were standing right before the bed where Danny and Scott had been standing. Koda turned the man about rather quickly and forced him to sit down. “It would appear, my prince, that we are being avoided which is very difficult as we… naturists are your guests and friends and Scott and Daniel here are your personal guard at this foreign court, so perhaps you could explain to me why you have been going out of your way recently to keep us at arm’s length.”

“Let him breath Koda, he’s been holding onto all kinds of secrets, we wouldn’t want him to choke on them and pass out now would we?” Deucalion offered his snarky bit from the shadows, his disapproval of Stiles’ treatment of them quite evident in his tone.

“You do realize my friend that honesty is usually the best course of action. I mean whatever is going on between you and this English king who has taken you captive is your business and we are far too sullied by our own past endeavors to judge you too harshly.” Koda’s tone softened as he spoke.

“Stiles, we just want to know what’s happening. You haven’t been yourself for a while now and it’s starting to worry me,” Scott offered as he moved closer his intent to place a gentle hand on his friend’s shoulder in a show of encouragement. Before his hand could touch though he lowered himself, in a half bow and sniffed the air around Stiles, his eyes going wide with shock and, if it was at all possible, even more worry. “Stiles,” he worried out loud, his silent accusation confirmed by the reluctant return of glance Stiles gave him. Eyes flashing for a split second before become docile brown pools once more.

“I beg your pardon,” Duke announced as he and the others did the same as Scott, all taking their cue from him. Stiles silently cursed the gods for allowing wolves to have such heightened senses. He wasn’t even sure how Lydia had missed the telling mingling scents that gave away him and Derek’s careless indiscretion.

“What have you done?” Scott asked out in the open now.

Stiles turned his head from them all but couldn’t hide the way he worried at his bottom lip with his teeth. “I think…” He started and then paused before the overwhelming riptide of emotion escaped his being the wrong way. “We’ve,” he paused, “Shared something.” He seemed almost dazed as he admitted it. His eyes became wet with confused and defeated tears. I’m afraid I don’t despise Derek Hale as I’d thought.” He tried to ignore the ease with which he mentioned Derek’s name, and the pleasure it gave him to say.

The first eye he’d caught when he’d come back to himself was Koda’s and there was a shallow covering of concern and care in his eyes that topped a deep hurt Stiles was able to catch before the man’s expression darkened eyes flashing red and back so quickly it looked like his eyes were like blinking stars in the sky. “This is what you’ve been hiding.” He said matter-of-factly through clenched teeth.  

“With good reason brother,” Deucalion butted in rising to his feet, his own eyes alight with a different look. Disappointment and a profound loss for understanding of any of what was happening. “You of all people, how did this happen. He kidnapped you, he hides you here and lays claim to you he cannot so much so that we, the princes of Ireland are playing pretend on your behalf so as not to incur the wrath of your jealous lover. What a strange predicament we find ourselves in.” He ended in a very curious polite tone, like the one people used for sarcasm.

“Whatever happened to not judging me and being honest, is this not exactly what you asked for. The bare truth is at your feet, do with it what you will,” he said a tad bitterly and turned his head pointedly to a side so he could stare off into the considerable lack of unoccupied blank space.

“Stiles we’re not…” Scott had tried to start but Koda was quick and had slowly been inflating with rage. When he spoke his voice loud and thunderous and scary and he walked right up to Stiles face to speak, not touching him but commanding his attention as the man fumed.

“How dare you. Perhaps you have forgotten who you are and the world that we live in. You don’t think you hate him the way you once did. What would it matter how much you did or didn’t like him. The man is a tyrant, he kidnapped you and has held you here every day and for what, so he could slowly woo you into being his own while he marries the pretty little Denmark Princess because he wants a queen and the heirs she will bring. You think you have feelings for him, romantic feelings, that’s a laugh or maybe you are just not the person I thought you were.” The moment he’d said those particular words, Scott was sure it was all over, he was going down a dangerous road and nobody would be able to stop or save anyone else. “Perhaps you’re not the caring, fair, considerate man I had thought you’d grown to be. Maybe you easily forget the one’s that love you as you’d not bothered to see to my brother and I and our people since we’ve come here and played this game of yours. Oh and let’s not forget the one that loves you most of all. After all your father who was injured on the battlefield hasn’t seen you in oh just a few months but why should that even matter to you at all, not when you have the affections of the English…” he didn’t get the opportunity to finish that thought. There was a blur of glowing emerald a very loud, very disheartening, smack, crunch and then crash. When everyone managed to finally settle their eyes Koda had been launched a few feet back on the ground, his nose was bleeding furiously and his face was a mask of utter shock and pain. Not the surface kind though, the kind that comes from deep beneath the surface that leaves you feeling as though your entire planet shifted and the deathly consequences litter your feet.

“Don’t you dare ever talk about me and my father that way!” Stiles was fuming with a dark rage he didn’t know personally. His eyes as green as they glowed were dark and heavy. The glow multidimensional as it seemed to almost emanate from his head and leak out wherever he moved. Scott automatically moved to rest a hand on his shoulder but the slight twitch from Stiles body as if bracing for impact stopped him.

Koda quickly and elegantly brought himself up to his feet, full height and stature. A powerful hand came up to his nose to reset it with an audible crunch that set Stiles eyes transitioning back to their more manageable honeyed brown. As his eyes changed so did the expression on his face going from volatile rage, to shame, regret and despair. Koda stared hotly at him for a moment, his eyes filling with something Stiles was afraid to see but couldn’t look away, tears…

With no word, Koda turned from the prince then and walked out the room, not storming, or making a scene, just a quiet exit and that’s how Stiles knew what he did was damn near damaging to the man not to mention it had earned him Deucalion’s wrath. The room was silent for a few moments after Koda left. Everyone seemingly waiting for something to happen.

“I didn’t mean to…” Stiles tried but Deucalion didn’t give him a chance.

“Just like you didn’t mean to fall for the enemy, but you did Stiles. You know how he has always felt about, you, your lack of reciprocation he got over, but to come and find you give that heart which was far too good for him to a man who has brought nothing but suffering and pain to both our lives and our people, can you possibly for a moment fathom the pain he was in before you ended it so violently just now…” Duke pinned Stiles with a glare and it wasn’t anger he saw anymore but disappointment. That was too much. He began to weep where he stood. In response Duke simply sighed and announced he was going after his brother if he hadn’t managed to kill himself yet.

Each word was another knife wound to his heart, breaking him in ways he hadn’t even realized was possible. He turned around, trying to gather himself, even while conscious of the flood of tears streaming down his face and the loud harsh groaning that escaped his throat as he cried out his pain. His eyes caught Danny there, staring at him. The man averted his eyes almost immediately but not quick enough to hide the confusion and maybe even disappointment.

Emerald leaking pools found Scott’s puppy dog brown ones and he lost all control. Stiles began a collapse to the floor which Scott barely managed to break with his arms. He pulled his best friend into his arms and held him tightly. Scott smelled like iron and, leather and Scotland and in that moment, Stiles cried for more than himself, more than his illicit relationship with his jailor or his tumultuous confrontation with a man who loved him more than he could fathom, he cried for more than the hurt he was causing the Denmark princess Lydia and the way she looked at him with fire and ice in her gaze. He cried for more than Koda’s pain and Deucalion’s wrath, Scott’s comfort and Daniel’s disappointment. They may not have understood everything about Derek and Stiles and what was happening but they weren’t all wrong. So He cried, he cried for his mother’s long absence for she would have the words of wisdom that would lead him to the right decision. He cried for his father’s separation knowing exactly why they were apart and how he had dishonored those circumstances. Finally, he cried for his home because he had long been from it, long since, run through the mists and forests of the highland.

Scott looked up at Danny and as if they had all been brothers from the beginning of time, the third man knelt to the ground where Scott had eased himself and Stiles and he wrapped his arms around them both, sealing Stiles in the center of their arms, where a soothing calm and comfort could engulf him and quiet him. They remained that way for so long neither of them could really tell. They remained until the prince had cried himself to sleep and even then they stayed, protecting his still bleeding heart from the bereft feel of loneliness to his subconscious.

 

*

She gasped sharp and deep as her body shot up off of the bed where she’d been resting. Her eyes were engulfed in white and she seemed to completely freeze in position as if the moment had paused while her mind travelled elsewhere. In her mind’s eye fragments of scenes unfolded like watching a play in pieces or through the eyes of a diseased mind that left the present often, returning only at random intervals. There was a woman, or at least it seemed like a woman she spoke, her voice was thick and heavy though she spoke in hushed tones. “He will be where he is meant to…” she said before she faded along with the dark background she stood before. Another woman came into view now, much clearer. She had dark hair stark like a raven’s wing. She walked briskly through a hall that seemed to slowly build itself brick by brick around her as she moved. Her feet clothed in soft peasant’s shoes and her body adorning a long brown skirt and white bodice covered by a large brown shawl. She was a commoner, had to be. Her hands seemed dusted with a film of some white powder,

She paused in front of a door and knocked on it three times wrapping loud enough to be heard but soft enough to not seem rude. When the door opened there was a silhouette but the seer was unable to make out who had peered through the open frame. “The king wishes…. his majesty the…” the words came in and out as though sound could merely be controlled by one dial that someone seemed to keep turning up and down in her head. “No…” Marin heard emanating from the silhouette but then there was another and she only needed to see the glowing green to be certain. No one had eyes like those, none but for the prince of Scots himself. “…the forest,” the young woman finished and dismissed herself having given the message she’d been sent with. And just like before the entire scene crumbled to give way to the construction of a new location. Yet it was insubstantial. The entire scene was all walls of darkness, but this time Marin was there, walking on solidified shadow, with skirts in hand. She followed the same path winding down, taking note of the crisp fresh smell and the sound of running water. There was a loud cracking sound and a feel of wind rushing past her ear and when she turned she noticed the arrow lodged in a large mass of black. Blood started to ooze from the shadow painting it all over as it leaked and spread, coming alive. It spread fast and far painting the entire scene in scarlet.

Marin stared intently watching what appeared to be a forest become animated in blood and as she looked down she saw it creeping up her leg, engulfing her bare feet and swallowing her gown. She called out, screamed tried to run but she couldn’t move. She screamed one more as a voice called out in a thousand tones. “…there is someone standing in the way of my happiness…”

She woke with a start, falling back to the bed, her eyes normalizing, pupils returning. “No!” she hissed as she threw herself off the cot. “She rushed to the corner of her room where she kept her family’s chest. It was large and a curious shade of obsidian. The wood was mountain ash, a precautionary measure. She opened its large gold ornamented lid and lifted first the uniquely shaped stone, a crescent moon. Her eyes darkened as her mind quickly travelled to thoughts of someone who she’d missed for far too long, a sacrifice to the commitment of their callings. She placed the stone down and rifled through the chest for the crystals. When her hands settled on the several crystals of varying colors from amber to mint she retrieved them all and positioned them in a circle around herself. She faced a full length shard of mirror she kept framed against a wall and stared into it, but not to stare back at herself. She looked into it as if there was something in there she was trying to find. Her eyes peered in and didn’t stop at its surface but ventured much further, much deeper as if there was a journey to be made and at its end she’d find exactly what it was that she needed.

After a moment, the natural light that was rather scarce in the dark room seemed to increase, creeping its way into the room through cracks and over surfaces and by crawling along the walls toward each crystal. The light filed into the crystals filling them as they began to hum and glow crying out in a tone so low yet so high a frequency no one could hear.  Marin never took her eyes of the glass. And as they remained, they seemed to glow themselves as if channeling the reactions of her crystals. Her lips moved all the while, mouthing words, stringing together incantations in an old Irish variant that most wouldn’t even begin to comprehend.

Suddenly, signaled by the music of the crystals, harmony of her incantation and heavy energy filling the room, the glass became slightly misted and alive. It seemed as though a new world was initializing in the mirror. The mist rushed forth then as though someone was travelling over a large distance at great speed. Along the side of the slipstream one could see figures as if landmarks on a journey. It all then stopped, at a shadowed man’s back.

“Servant of the crystal cave I call to you, hear me now. Find seclusion and look to my form in the world of reflection.” The figure remained completely still for a moment and then there was an unmistakable nod of his head before he began moving. The mirror followed him as he turned corners and opened doors. Finally he entered another door and paused, waiting, listening. He then moved, turned toward Marin and bowed,

“Your servant hears your call my lady, what urgency forces your hand like this?”

“He is in danger..” she hissed.

“No my lady he was rescued last eve from the stray wolf,” Boyd responded proudly.

“Then you are wrong for I see no danger from his own kind but from another. There is blood on the future, lots of it, it is undeniable. A plot of some malcontent from within the castle. A hunter, will slay him if you do not save him. It happens soon I feel it. The forest, you must find him, get the king there.”

“My lady…” he replied, alarmed and confused. “I thought.. it will be done,” he finished resolved.

Her eyes softened. “Warrior I know you struggle. I have faith in you because you are worthy of it. Now go rescue our future before it is too late.” Boyd nodded and turned away. All too quickly the image dropped, and light that glowed from the crystals faded. Marin fell to the ground, holding her head, blood, leaked from her left nostril. She wasn’t ready to do that quite yet, she’d not yet recovered from her last few visions.

 

*

Stiles stared out the window as he fastened his belt, the final touch on his ensemble. His eyes were dark, tired his cheeks flushed and lips a bit swollen from biting down his cries. If he hadn’t healed completely it’s because he didn’t want to. “Are you sure this is what you should be doing right now my friend?” Scott queued concerned.

“Yes perhaps it would be better to find the Irish nobles and…” Danny trailed off unsure how to proceed after all he didn’t know them at all and this was Stiles’ private business. As much of a friend as he had become he didn’t want to overstep, he knew how Stiles could react to that now.

“I appreciate your doubled concern but I know what I have to do. I’ve hurt Koda and he needs his space but he hurt me too,” he knew it was a illusionist’s compromise as he said it but he didn’t care. “and I need my space as well, to think things through…” …and find comfort in Derek’s arms. He didn’t say the last bit.

“But to meet with the king,” Scott started but Stiles held up a hand.

“That’s just it, even if didn’t want to he would still be King and I would still be unable to refuse. The request is a façade, even now. I know that, but there are things that must be said.” He sounded so sure of himself, so convinced.

“At least let us accompany you?” Scott pleaded.

“No old friend, I know these woods now I will be fine.” With that he hugged Scott quickly to silence him, patted Danny’s arm and left to go find his King.

*

The landscape of the forest bathed in the amber kaleidoscope of the setting sun’s light was breathtaking. Even one such as Gerard had to stop and admire its beauty and serenity before he set off to lay his traps for the oncoming prey. Gerard had neither love nor hate for the wolfkind he simply sold his ability to end them to whoever desired one gone. In this case it so happened to be the imprisoned prince of Scots. “This might be fun,” he muttered as he turned away from the dying light and set off into the woods.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed and I'm sorry for the whole mid-season break... lol


	15. The Wolf's Bane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek comes to whisk him away but Stiles is gone, under his orders, to the forest. They must find him before Stiles and his new acquaintance get to know each other too well.

The hard sound of heavy boot-falls on the castle floors were a thundering herald that the king and guard were about. Derek took the helm of the three man ship while Boyd, who had rose tremendously under the king’s favor and Isaac brought up the rear, completing a triangular formation. Their boots were echoing beacons announcing authority, power and presence. Derek’s face was a more carefree shade than it had been in quite some time. His feelings for Stiles continued to grow every moment of the day and he welcomed it easily. Isaac was a quiet simple accompaniment while Boyd seemed more anxious. It was his roundabout suggestion to the king to include the prince in a sparring session. Naturally it had been a well-designed ruse to get Stiles into Derek’s line of sight and thereby safe in his immediate custody.

As the three men walked by, all they passed in the halls would stop and bow eloquently to their king showing their respect. Derek noticed the small flutter of anxiety within himself as the door to Stiles’ rooms loomed closer. His hand was preparing itself, balling up and becoming a fist before he even stood at the door. A small smile stole at his lips before he registered it, not that he would care. He felt, happy, genuinely happy, which wasn’t without its own complication but it was worth it. A soft polite wrapping on the door returned no answers from within, though Derek’s auto-tuning ears identified two beating hearts. Neither of them sounded right though.

“Prince Stiles,” he called as he knocked on the door once more and waited as patiently as his breeding and possessive nature would allow. Behind him the two men who followed exchanged a look at the king’s oddly accommodating behavior. Derek was generally a good man but a royal’s entitlement was never lost on him to say the least. Silence, again was the answer for a short skip of beats before, the door pulled open. They were greeted then not by the Prince but his best friend.

Derek’s smile twitched as he peered almost right through the man and then looked behind his head. “Lord McCall, I trust you are well.”

“Aye your majesty, but I…” he trailed off looking immensely confused. He too peered about Derek’s person not to register the guards who trailed him but as if he expected another.

“Where is Prince Stiles?” Derek questioned eloquent and cordial. He began moving forward without invitation as the entitled often do. Once he’d entered the room he locked onto the other heartbeat, being Daniel Cromwell. The king’s face fell. Danny’s cheeks reddened and his eyes narrowed in utter confusion to mirror the faces of everyone besides Isaac who simply had no idea what was going on.

Scott turned and followed the king his mouth opening for a pause before he spoke. “I don’t understand, why are **you** here, king Derek,” he added with a bow so as not to seem disrespectful.

Derek turned swift and hard facing Scott with glowing red eyes. “I don’t like your tone McCall,” he commanded warningly.

“I think we misunderstand each other lord king. I only query why you’ve come here when my liege has already set off to find you as requested.” Scott articulated his explanation quickly.

“Requested, by whom?” the question crawled free of his thin lips and grinding teeth a deadly whisper. Isaac’s tensing body caught up to the present situation as he began to intently listen to the goings on. Boyd feared inwardly as his mind started working. Scott and Danny exchanged a worried look as Scott responded.

“By you my king. A servant delivered a message that you requested the prince meet with you in the forest.”

At that moment the room became heavy with tension most of which emanated from the wolf king. The room was thick and heavy with it, so palpable it could be touched, as certain as it held each man fastened in place.

“I made no such request! I’ve sent no orders and certainly commissioned no servants this day, well not to fetch me the prince as you can see I’ve come to him myself and you tell me that I have sent him elsewehere.” Derek admitted the facts as he thought over what he’d learned.

“If it was not you, then who called for him?” It was Danny who put out the question and as the other eyes turned to paint him to the room the fear in his own eyes was matched four times over.

*

A fresh English rain had fallen, a light drizzle that had brought down the sky scents from their perch to hold the attention of those walking through the hedges of rain drops. Stiles walked through the woods almost leisurely. Every step he took disturbing not one twig or fallen leaf. The wolf in him coated every characteristic. He was graceful, quick and dangerous as he moved through the forest only half thinking about the walk, his mind more focused on the destination.

It would have been a good idea to ask exactly where in the forest the king had thought to summon him to, but for some reason that question wasn’t included in the conversation with the maid that had come to deliver Derek’s summons. He hadn’t worried though, somehow he felt as though Derek would be in the place they had first slept together, as wolves through the night of a full moon.

Just the thought of that experience made him audibly gasp. It was so intimate, and though he might not remember all presently in time the closer he comes with his wolf the more he would recall. But such a thing was often only done when it was a wolf and his true mate, spending a full moon night together, alone, just a pair under the influence of the primal change force.

A sharp pain clenched his heart for a moment as his mind flashed to another. The one he’d truly hurt most of all in this whole, whatever it was. Koda. He’d put hands on Koda, the only man besides his father and his best mate he knew for certain would do, give or sacrifice anything for him, except maybe, he wasn’t so sure, Deucalian was off limits. When it came to Stiles Koda tended to become fiercely protective and unwaveringly loyal. Stiles had seen the twins arguing over something he’d done once, Duke condemning him and Koda defending. The argument did not become very heated but Koda had pushed until Deucalian dropped the matter and apologized. When he’d walked away, Koda winked at him and promised as long as he was about Stiles would always be safe, happy and free.

The stray memory brought a shimmering pool to his eyes causing the honey brown in his eyes to glint like amber in a beam of sunlight. Koda loved him, completely, totally and irrevocably. Stiles had even sometimes wondered if they were meant for each other but he was simply too young to feel the bond. Once he’d gotten older he started to wonder if Koda might ever find love when he was so invested in his own love for Stiles.

“What am I doing?” he threw the question to the squirrels scurrying rapidly over the high branches, to the pigeons flying low overhead to perch on tree tops to survey the ground, to the ants retreating ahead of him into their colony. He’d hit Koda, and for what telling the exact truth, because he didn’t want to hear it. He’d offended an old friend and it didn’t sit right with him.

 _But what of Derek?_ He heard the thought echo in his brain and hit the walls as it bounced back and forth. There was something there, he was certain of it. They just needed to figure it out. Stiles focused on the path as he neared the place where they’d slept together. “Derek?” he called out not seeing or really smelling too much. The rain fall had messed with the scents on the ground, but just on a breeze came a familiar scent of male, leather and wine he could attribute to Derek. He couldn’t help the unbidden smile as he turned to walk toward the faint scent he noticed the smile and felt a pang of guilt for his happiness after what happened with Koda. He also noticed he was starting to feel warm, physically, but it was a tingling warmth that burst like bubbles against his skin.

*

The thunder of boots were much louder leaving the prince’s quarters than approaching them. There were added feet to the march and with the determination and fear that drove them the sound of their shoes hitting the ground beneath them were a trumpeting command announcing their approach an that all before should make themselves scarce as this was certainly not the time to get in the way of a king’s procession. Anyone who eyed their faces as the team of men navigated their way through the castle, would have commented on the dire strain in each of their faces, set in grim hard masks as they moved as quickly as their feet carried without breaking into a full run. Scott and Derek competed for the lead, Scott putting his etiquette in the presence of royalty aside when the life of his best friend, his brother was presumably in danger. Danny was slightly behind them and to Scott’s right while Isaac and Boyd rushed behind and to the left of Derek.

“Isaac find Alan,” Derek called without looking back, his voice was sure and precise as if he’d crafted every word of the order in his mind before he’d given it. “Tell him that I require him to lead fifteen men into the forest to aid in our search for Prince Germin. Right now he could be unharmed but I would not risk the chance that whoever requested this meeting under false pretenses only wanted to exchange a few private words.”

“There are far less treasonous ruses to employ.” Boyd added from the side as his mind worked out his own strategy for finding Stiles and keeping him safe. His eyes were intense with the secret knowledge he did have. The forecast from the Lady Marin. Blood on the future she’d said, and now this. His eyes darted to Derek’s face. He could only see it from the one side but he could tell that behind the cold stone mask the king portrayed he was in desperate anxiety and dare he even think it, fear.

“Go!” Derek barked to Isaac who kept up in case there was anything else the king would add. The booming order had barely sounded before Isaac turned on his heel and bounded down to the east wing where he’d be most likely to find the King’s favored council and trusted knight Alan Deaton.

The soft sunlight barely crept past the netting of greying clouds that had ensnared the skies massively in some places and less so in others. The cold breeze bringing scents of ocean and greenery was a cruel whip against their skin and in their noses. They were masters of the wild where Stiles was assumed to be but the wind, the outside world, merely reminded them that anything beyond the walls of the castle was part of an expanse that was far more than even an army could traverse thoroughly enough and in time. Hopefully not enough time had passed to pull Stiles far enough away from them that they couldn’t find him.

The men stole across the grounds in a tensed but focused silence. People in the courtyards stopped their daily goings-on to cast a weary or curious eye their way. Their tight formation was like palpable ball of power that emanated a cold vengeance as they made haste across the grounds to the forest entrance Stiles would have used, Deucalion caught Scott’s eye only because he was moving toward them on a trajectory that would place him in their way and knowing Duke he would stop them or attempt to before Derek ripped his clean off rather than entreat the Irish prince in disguise to aid. He frowned and turned his head even as he continued to walk a perfect path toward their goal without watching ahead or bumping into his companions.

“Something is wrong.. Stiles…” Scott called out to Duecalian’s unasked question. A testament to the kinship they shared, Duke nodded and opened his mouth but he voice Scott hear came from the man he had not seen. “We’re coming.” Koda hadn’t moved with his brother when they’d seen the strange fellowship galloping down the way. They had both found it strange the opposing collection of team mates moving with such single minded purpose but Koda was still reeling from his own trials that day he didn’t care to be concerned but when he’d heard Stiles was in trouble or might have been, as if there were a distinction his body shifted from one state of being to the next and he responded instinctively.

He was moving and so was his brother and in formation they formed to add to the king’s numbers. Derek didn’t stop but his eyes did veer off to the right where the men had joined closer to Scott. “I don’t know what use naturists would be if there is a fight..” his voice was cold but level.

“Then let us pray that prince Stiles has not been lured into a violent situation,” Duke took up before Koda was swiftly drawn from his focused calm to the jealous place which would certainly shoot back with a few choice words for the king.

 

 

*

Stiles noticed how much slower he had been moving. To non-wolfkind it might have not even occurred but he’d started walking two paces less every ten seconds and he’d also had to work on keeping his breathing even and it hadn’t been easy. The tingling warmth on his skin had certainly not come from the inside and it was starting to feel slightly searing like a burn. It was more prominent on his legs where he had worked through the grass. The path he’d been following had become less and less sure as he’d noted his loss of the scent he’d been tracking, the scent he’d attributed to Derek.

It wasn’t that the scent had faded though, it was more like he couldn’t pick it out of the air anymore. Like his ability to sift through the chemical changes in the environment, in the air had simply become ineffective. It bothered him greatly, the less wolfkind he felt, he wondered if it was because of his anxiety but he couldn’t escape the harrowing feeling that there was something he was overlooking.

He had walked out of the trees and followed a clear pathway along the line of a creek which led to some caves just barely hidden by the largely grown vegetation. The tree line was a distance off from the short blades of grass that seemed almost tended to and neat toward the cave entrance. The water between Stiles and the other side o the forest was crystal clear and glistening in the sunlight but slightly dimmer than he’d think it should be, at least to his eyes.

Further ahead along the path the entrance to the cave became more obvious. The mouth slowly came into view as he moved toward it, the dark opening revealing itself behind and through the wide long leaves growing high from the ground. It was oddly quiet, he noted the absence of the squirrels and birds, even the smaller creatures, bugs, snails and other things that slithered and crawled amongst vegetation. Stiles wondered in forced privacy why he continued on when he had this feeling, when he’d not yet even seen or spoken to Derek, when he hadn’t caught a scent on the winds in some time or heard more than the average ear, or when felt a hot sticky tingling burn on his skin. Still he kept on thinking if there was nothing and no one there he would keep his patient calm until he could turn his righteous fury onto the king wherever he was.

The cave was very dark, too dark. As Stiles walked into the depths of the earth’s mouth he became incredibly uneasy, regretting his blind faith or was it hope for taking him so far outside his comfort zone and for what… He tried but as much as he focused or reached within he couldn’t access that part of him which would allow him to see in the dark recesses of the cave as clear as if he were standing in an open field in the middle of the day. He continued on slowly, “Derek,” he called out expecting not to hear anything at all and he was certainly not disappointed. He could just barely make out the end of the cave. It was a few paces further and seemed like dull obsidian grey as if a shadow taking form. He stopped completely and breathed out heavily. As he turned to leave pondering his utter disappointment he saw it and his gut clenched.

There were few times fear truly had gripped him in his life, and that is to say true fear. The kind that brings with it a heat under the skin but a cold sweat atop it. An irrationally fast heartbeat he couldn’t justify at the very least because of the racing of his mind that placed him in a closed off tunnel trying to find a way out running a thousand scenarios. This was one of those times. He scanned the man and noted the hand on the crossbow in one hand and the other on the hilt of the sword sheathed to his side. Stiles instinctively stepped back a few paces and wasn’t quite certain what had struck him first. It might have been the sound of the high pitched screeching that seemed to drag on forever before the combined dull sharp crack of metal on bone accented by the squelching of flesh and squirting of blood, or it was the intense layered pain that slowly and excruciatingly revealed itself as the contraption he’d unknowingly retreated into snapped closed around his leg like the steel jaws of a giant beast.

It seemed like he was experiencing the situation from inside himself and outside. He saw it happen to him and felt it in sections. He watched his own mouth open, once soft and supple, naturally reddened lips now pulled taught and a fleshy, yellowish white color which would match the pale white of his face perfectly. Stiles heard the voice if one could even call it that, sound so foreign to his ears as the echoing scream nearly lit up the cave in a color synesthetic event. They weren’t pleasant, the colors a dark shroud of shifting shadow overhead, while his leg felt as though icy flames had engulfed his foot to the very bone of his ankle. He barely saw a few feet in front of him but was able to catch the grin that had broken over the man’s face as he tilted his body at an angle which allowed light to Illuminate his distant features.

 

*

“Why was he even walking about the grounds unaccompanied?” Derek demanded his head snapping to Daniel, pinning him with a cruel stare that threatened vengeance for his failure to assume the role he was appointed to. After a long stare he flashed his wicked eyes toward Scott so he would be made well aware that the accusation in his question extended to the highland lord as well.

Danny opened his mouth to respond but then turned his head and forced his narrowing eyes straight ahead. A still, blank expression spilling across his face. Scott caught the sight of him and immediately felt sympathy for the man. “My liege did demand he be left to his devices Lord King. As he is my master and by your appointment Lord Cromwell’s I imagine you might understand our hesitation toward displeasing our master by disobeying his word.” He looked to Derek for merely a fraction of a second before turning his cold gaze away as if unwilling to waste another moment giving him such precious focus. The words were a secure defense, a direct challenge and with the merit and grace behind it all there was not much Derek could do but huff and flare his nostrils.

The flare was not just at his displeasure of the company or the situation they were thrown together in but also because, the scent of Stiles had been becoming weaker and weaker in his nostrils until it was such a faint wisp of chemical on the wind that he couldn’t identify it from the cold numbness of wind blowing passed I'm. They had run out passed the physically familiar patch of nature Derek and Stiles had slept in. When he’d walked through growing blades of grass budding from the soil under longer blades that had looked trampled or broken he’d felt a warmth he allowed for only a moment. The scent had brought them down through dark trees growing so closely together they almost posed a serious obstacle to the men. A light could be seen off further in the distance as if the trees cleared up some ahead.

“I can’t…” Scott started, pausing as if he were afraid to even speak the thought lest he brought life to the idea but Deucalion picked up and finished what he couldn’t, no, wouldn’t say. “I can’t pick up a scent anymore.” He said levelly, thinking, his eyes dark with the shadow of his racing thoughts, they touced at Scott’s face and an answering fear met him.

“I'm sure if we fan about we can pick it up again,” Derek groused, irritated that not even he could deny Deucalion’s words.

“I do not mean _his_ scent I mean _any_ scent,” Duke confessed in an expulsion of breath.

“I know and do you feel that against your skin, the sensation?” his brother chimed in their minds beginning to work and feed off each other.

“Aye, my legs have been on with the burn for some time now.” The response was quick, ready.

“Mine too, it started a while back when we went through that clearing, it is like a tingle on the skin and then my legs got warmer and the tingle got sharper until it felt like a burn or somewhat. I assumed I would heal, I mean wasn’t paying that much attention to it in light of… the situation…” he trailed off.

“What do you think it is, Duke?” Scott asked, turning to the calmer of the twins. He knew it to be true because he felt exactly what Daniel had described.

“I have a suspicion but you’re not going to like it,” he drawled his Irish brogue thick and wispy leaving the barely audible t in the it drifting off into the winds in a crescendo-ing release.

“Out with it,” Derek called his temper already high but he tried to maintain his calm in an effort at the very least to get to Stiles quickly. He too couldn’t deny something was affecting them in some way leaving them unable to track the way they should normally be able to. His eyes drifted passed Deucalion’s tilted shoulders which faced the king, to his brother who had stooped low to inspect a plant.

He had given thought to the man on and off, the way he was so close to Stiles, the way he looked at him, the way he jumped right in to come find him when earlier he’d seen the man storming away from the prince’s wing in a furious rage which suggested to Derek that maybe Stiles really was not lying to him when he implied there was no relationship between them but if he was being honest, even then, he didn’t believe it. This man who was as attractive as any he had admired either from afar or up close had feelings of some kind for Stiles, his Stiles and they were immense.

“This feels like wolfs-bane poisoning.” The words were a grim sentence expelled from Deucalion’s mouth. It meant so much at once and for all those who had comprehended exactly on how many levels this just escalated the terror was in their eyes. It reflected easily from Scott, to Deucalion and Derek. Daniel spoke up not yet having pieced it all together. “That’s impossible, wolfs-bane does not grow in these forests and the growing of it outside the proper facilities is outlawed besides…”

“Here,” Koda interrupted as he stood to his full height holding something delicately between his thumb and forefinger outstretched. The look on his face was a mixture of concern and disgust as he held up his hand so they could look. He held up a stem from one of the plants growing nearby, it had large broad leaves that fanned out like hearts and thin long stems which connected leaf to main stem. Scott furrowed his brow wondering why a plant could make Koda look so personally affronted, but as he stepped closer he noticed something strange. There were tiny grains of what appeared to be bluish dust covering the leaves and stems.

“I wouldn’t recommend touching it,” Koda said, “well besides having been walking through it this far.” The others came closer to look closely at the plant, Duke had hung back letting Derek and Daniel see. “This…” Derek began and Koda finished pointedly,

“is certainly wolfs-bane, blue wolfs-bane. Someone has dusted this part of the forest with it which suggests to me that…”

“…this whole thing is a trap.” Deucalion finished his sentence easily having arrived at the same conclusion earlier.

“But who would?” Daniel pondered out loud softly. He didn’t finish the thought. There was a breath of air and the tension rose by a thousand in the forest scene.

“I can just barely feel him,” Deucalion spoke as his eyes darted about the forest trying to solve a thousand problems at one.

“Feel who Stiles?” Derek barked stepping uncomfortably close to Duke in his ferocious worry. Koda stepped closer to his twin brother, slightly ahead of him, his body tilted so he could easily slip completely in front of Duke if need body, stance readied should he need to defend his brother. The movement was fluid and unconscious, a pronounce declaration of the powerful and deadly creature he was. Derek barely noticed until he turned his head to Koda as he spoke up. “He means the wolf, he can barely feel it and I know what he means, we have all been slowly poisoned, I’m sure the only reason we’re not severely weakened and in pain is because it would be too fast, whoever did this needed Stiles to get far enough away to be private without fearing a cavalry arriving too quickly if anyone should notice the prince missing.”

“I agree,” Scott says, “We can’t stay here either, we have to keep on going, we have to assume that he’s not too far ahead of us.”

“But if we can’t scent him how do we find him?” Daniel poses the question trying to help sort through the mess with them.

“We follow the direction the scent was taking us before,” Derek called already turning back to where they were headed.

“I think we should take another route,” Deucalion offered quickly as they all got to moving, following after the English king. “This path we have been following has been laced with wolfs-bane I’m afraid if we keep on it we will be too weak to be of any help to Stiles if we make it to him in time.”

“No we don’t have time for that,” Derek roared whipping his head back in irritation, his eyes a dim crimson. Scott noted that, as disconnected as they were from their wolves Derek could still span the space between him and his wolf and call it forth. Perhaps for Stiles alone… The others noticed as well some widening eyes less noticeable than others. All except Koda.

“He’s right,” Scott starts quickly, “if we keep going we know his scent led down this way which means we have a better chance of finding him.”

“Also,” Daniel pitched in, “We have been running through these woods while Stiles was most likely walking, I’d say we have a better chance of being able to fight if we keep up the pace.” The others nodded quickly acknowledging the solidity of their logic and with not another moment spared, the five men broke off in a run where Derek had led them.

They had barely gotten  a few hundred feet when they heard it, just near the lit up tree line a guttural, disturbed roar of a cry that sent chills down their spines and set lumps the size of boulders in their throat. Koda’s eyes widened as they turned a bright crimson, Derek’s did as well, and before Scott could see it, they had both launched forward in a blinding burst of speed. Duke leapt off after them and just nearly matched their speed while Scott and Daniel followed closely behind. As the two lead alphas neared the tree line they jumped over a fallen tree stump and dodged branches sending them into a synchronized weave until they broke the tree line and burst into the overwhelming light pool. From where Scott lagged behind, he didn’t identify which body had transformed into the giant wolf.

 

*

“Apologies for the circumstances under which we had to meet,” the man said as he moved closer to Stiles, gruff voice echoing ominously as the sound rebounded off of cave walls and bounced back and forth until it hit the back wall and was thrown back to the entrance. As he moved into the darkness of the cave Stiles couldn’t make out the best of details. He was also terribly deterred in all things by the massive bleeding sore of a wound that encircled his ankle, held tightly by the massive jaws of a bear trap. It had taken him some time to stop heavily seething as he tried to control the sobbing cries that threatened to burst forth like water escaping a dam. Once he’d managed to stop fidgeting desperately he had been able to control his breathing. The wound couldn’t heal until he got the trap off but the man ahead of him who came forward rather slowly as if giving him time together himself and ward off the pain, was another problem.

Stiles tried to find a voice to speak but when he opened his mouth he simply gasped, eyes widening in horror and swimming under a burning pool of fresh liquid. “Please don’t push yourself, you’re in quite the predicament friend.”  The man continued on not fazed by the barely held together prince feet ahead of him leg mangled by the jaws. “I won’t let you suffer if that’s what you’re wondering, it will be quick,” he said it with a grim grin and gripped the sword tighter, twisting the hilt in his hand. Stiles eyes flashed green and he jerked, immediately despising himself for it as a fresh wash of burning ice devoured his ankle and shins. Blood squirted from an exposed vein, from the movement and just as quickly receded as he settled.

“I am prince Germin Stilinski of Scotland heir to the throne of Scotland and Ireland and I demand to know who comes to claim my head.” He didn’t know where he found the voice and even though it sounded about a tenth as strong as he’d intended he was grateful there was dignity in it. He sounded like a royal, like a prince, a weakened one but a prince nonetheless. The man stopped, in spite of himself staring into the emerald eyes, half mesmerized half curious. A frown creased his brow and he cocked his head to a side.

“I am nothing but a servant of coin majesty,” the man said, his gruff voice curling the word majesty into something dark and filthy and Stiles feels instantly disgusted to receive the man in any way, as if he sensed the man devoid of any real humanity.

“Then let me make the counteroffer f.. for my life,” he stuttered a bit as his eyes lost focus for a fraction of a second. He was losing blood slowly and if it kept up, he would die anyway.

The man chuckled low and odd in the placement of the scene. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard that one, but what people tend to not understand is it would be severely bad for business were I to break my contracts every time the target offered me a promise of more. I’m not a greedy man you see,” he utters as he resumes walking forward, raising the crossbow slowly as he proceeds.

“Then at least tell me who signed my death warrant?” Stiles put it to him again in an attempt to stave of the inevitable for, just a few more seconds why? Would someone be coming for him? He’d stupidly told his guards, his friends to leave him alone. He’d not told anyone where exactly he’d be and they thought he was meeting with the king. What if they had not even noticed it was a ruse, what if no one did until far too late. For all he knew Derek was hunting or in meetings and no one would notice that Stiles wasn’t with him. He looked helplessly up at the approaching hunter and tightened his jaw. If he would die, he wouldn’t die alone. If he had to rip his damned foot off he’d take the man’s throat out as he left the world, leaving one less assassin as a parting gift.

“I’m sorry again friend, discretion in business is necessary. Nothing personal here either, just the job, you understand.” As he came to stand right before Stiles, the prince looked up into his eyes. He was an older man but still strong and in control of the better capabilities he possessed. His eyes were dark and cold, though it might have been the darkness of the cave. Stiles could feel himself tire rapidly and feel dizzy but he gripped his sanity, holding tightly before it could be lost to the racing storm of his slipping mind, slipping spirit. He focused all of his energy on coaxing out the wolf as much as he could reach through the pain and the wide chasm of disconnect.

He felt the faint response within him and his eyes glowed slightly brighter. Claws lengthened from his curled and concealed fingers and he waited for the right moment to strike. The man raised the crossbow, not taking his eyes off the prince. He brought the loaded arrow tip level to Stiles’ head and held his finger at the trigger of the weapon. Stiles eased himself as much as his state and tortured body would allow. He allowed his ears to hear more, his eyes to see harder, he tracked the finger on the trigger and the sound of the slow squeeze which seemed to slow down just for him as the finger’s pressure increased. He saw the muscles ripple subtly under the man’s skin as the flex came to the finger allowing it to press in. He heard a click and woosh and he moved. One arm reaching up quickly to grab the arrow before it could pierce his skull, the other slashing out at the hand that held the cross bow. The man yelled and dropped the weapon reeling back with the bottom of the sword hilt to bring it crashing into Stiles’ temple.

The pain was instant and double-fold as Stiles feels his head explode, at the same time his leg is yanked from the trap where he’d settled himself and immediately he feels himself slipping into blackness. His eyes flutter softly as he watches the man tower over him and raise the sword but before he could bring it down a giant wolf clamps its jaws, with its rows of razor sharp enlarged teeth, around the shoulder of the man. Before he closed his eyes finally he saw the blade pierce the wolf as the man rotated maneuvering himself. There was another sword, a roar of a wolf, the man rolled out of Stiles’ sightline and he drifted, unable to stay awake any longer.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank's for reading again. For all of those I have yet to address in my inbox, My family has had to deal with a bit of a trying time these last few months, which set me away from my computer and the endless expanse of blank canvas waiting to be painted with words and ideas, visions and stories that speak to me. I am back now and hopefully it's for good. I hope you enjoy the new chapter, and long to hear all about what you readers think and feel in the comments or messages. I am happy to answer questions or simply listen to your ideas on te story, where it's been and where it's going. As I've told you many times, the stories I write will always have a general direction but will rarely be set in stone from beginning to end or even fleshed out that much so a good interesting idea from anyone might just spark my inspiration to lead my story down that way. Anyway I hope you guys all enjoy this one and checkout the new chapter of Through Blood and Fire. Also stay tuned, a new Sterek fiction is coming with the introduction of a series I'm working on.
> 
> Love you guys immensely   
> Desi


	16. Practicing My Detatchment

He wasn’t sure if it was just a dream or if it was a nightmare. Stiles had assumed it was the first because in it he came to no harm. There was desperation and fear as he was faced down, against a jagged wall of rocks, about to be struck by the hunter the hunter’s neck is clamped down on hard by massive incisors, and then Stiles saw the large red eyes watching him, more human than wolf, intelligent and aware and threatening. He jerked so hard upright that Scott almost fell off the chair he’d been sitting on, or rather dozing off on for some time now. Danny was standing in the corner talking to Alan Deaton and another man who carried a black leather bag that looked like a medical kit. When they heard the commotion, Sir Alan excused himself, with a reassuring nod to Stiles and hurried off. The doctor genuflected to Scott Stiles and Danny in a very timid way and left as well. Scott was heaving a sigh of relief as he got to his feet.

“You had Daniel worried for a wee bit,” he uttered but the words were not nonchalant as he’d intended. They were filled with joy and relief and happiness and comfort. Scott stepped forward, reached out his arm and grasped Stiles accepting arm with his hand pulling the man against him tightly so he could wrap him in a one armed hug that engulfed the warrior’s greeting almost like it sealed it there.

“I’m sorry Daniel,” Stiles said but he looked right at Scott smiling. Then he caught himself, shaking his head, “the hunter?” he asked frantically as if he’d just remembered the ordeal himself.

“Dead,” Danny called evenly as he moved in closer and half bowed. Stiles grabbed his arms and pulled him down for a hug, easily understanding such contact would never be perpetrated by the lord, it would be highly inappropriate and presumptuous under normal circumstances. “I was worried for you, your grace, have you been having unwelcome dreams?” Danny asked kindly, remembering seeing Stiles toss and turn and sweat while he slept under their watchful eyes.

“Perhaps one or two but nothing I won’t overcome in time,” he shrugged it off as it were nothing. I keep seeing the wolf killing him, the hunter, who found me?” the way he spoke, the phrasing was so abrupt as if he hadn’t gathered all the pieces quite yet or he knew what happened but the order was jumbled and it was talking some doing to set them right again in his head.

“We all did my prince,” Scott chimed in, patting the man’s shoulder before moving lower down the bed to check his leg, it was almost completely healed now. “You’d been poisoned by wolfs-bane, slowed down the healing process a lot. I think their medicine man said it was good timing we found you as we did, any more exposure and the damage would have been too great for the healing.”

“Who is we?” Stiles said frowning in response to a pang of discomfort searing down the front of his head. He finally looked about the room for the first time. He was in his own chambers but things seemed different. He saw the two of them but heard five heartbeats, thanks to his overwhelmingly heightened senses he was trying to reign in. The other two were near his door. And there were bars on his windows, those certainly weren’t there before.

“Daniel, myself, Derek…”

Stiles perked up, his eyes narrowing at Scott unconsciously smiling. “It was him wasn’t it,” he called interrupting Scott. “I keep remembering a wolf, that saved me, a shaggy black wolf, it was Derek wasn’t it. He saved me.” He’d said the words and they were obviously true but he felt like they were wrong, his head throbbed again and he saw it once more, playing in his head. The wolf, the sword, “Oh no is he hurt, was Derek injured trying to save me, tell me he’s alive.”

“Stiles,” Scott barked to get his attention. He looked confused as did Danny.

“What? Just tell me,” Stiles said sounding exasperated and ready to accept the inevitable bad news.

“We weren’t alone, there were two others, Duke and Koda and it wasn’t Derek who stopped the Hunter from killing you, it was Koda.”

Stiles eyes widened as he looked from Danny’s to Scott’s candid faces, “Koda,” he whispered.

 

*

It was like a dark heavy mist he was running through. His eyes were scarlet with fury and desperation. His limbs were lithe and free as he ran or galloped like a horse. The hulking mass of the black wolf form he’d assumed was like a black shadow piercing through the dim light on the path. Koda had always received the world in more ways than the average person or wolfkind. It was his heritage, the blood in his veins that held more than the essence of his wolf. It was his connection with nature, with the earth and the surrounding environment, the people about him, the animals that roamed. That connection magnified the abilities of his wolf in ways that made the prince’s pain waft out the opening of the cave like a dark mist. It was Stiles’ fury and fear that he tasted like bitter herbs on his tongue. Koda barely panted as he heaved his way along hitting the opening almost faster than the eye could see.

He wasn’t sure where the strength had come from or maybe he did know. He loved Stiles in a manner that he could not define whether the man recognized his existence in their shared world or not he was irrevocably tied to the young prince and that which was wrought between their spirits, or at the very least his spirit to Stiles’ could not be undone. The giant black wolf took in the scene before him through large scarlet gems, glowing with malice. He saw the fallen face of his friend, his unrequited love and then he saw the hunter raising his sword. His canines lengthened even further if it was possible, and he had the man’s chest and back pressing against his long menacing fangs. Koda wasted no time, never taking his eyes off of Stiles, he clamped down hard until he was crushing metal and armor, piercing flesh with a crushing sploosh and breaking bone with a snap and a vibrating crunch. Bent and broken metals scraped against his curled lips and vulnerably soft gums.

Maybe his focus was divided, because he had not anticipated Gerrard’s next move, or maybe he’d thought that the force of his crushing blow or bite, would have been enough to do the man in. The hunter couldn’t maneuver himself, he was aware of that. He was also aware of the fact that having been caught this badly he would not make it out alive. He squinted back the stars swimming before him and re-established his grip on his sword. He pain-stakingly brought his free hand to his sword hand and rotated his wrist and the sword so that it was tilting on a crescent to face behind him, where the heaving mass of the wolf would soon force him down to his knees. With what strength he had left, pushed back, driving the sword as far as his arm would allow and then a little further still, until his upper arm near his socket was screaming in response to the action.

As the wolf received the blade it roared out in pain, releasing him for a second so that the immense relief and fresh flood of pain from that relief melded together knocking the wind out of him. He barely had time to buckle before a sharp stabbing of claws was digging into his back with a heavy force that threw him off his feet. As Gerrard fell at an awkward angle, he noticed the hilt of his sword sticking out of the wolf’s upper right side under his right front leg, while a fraction of the tip stuck through the back upper shoulder of the wolf.

He tried desperately to reach for one of the many weapons hidden on his person. At least he could finish the job if he had the time but his arm didn’t respond, his legs didn’t respond. His other arm worked but only to feed him immense pain. He tilted his head and was met with the quicksilver slide of a sword and the glint of scarlet eyes.

 

*

Koda was silently sleeping in the large bed of the private quarters his head of household had appropriated to the naturists as per the king’s order of course. Anyone could have just pretended he was sleeping but it was a deader sleep than one could easily be retrieved from. The clothes covering his body to help maintain his heat and healing concealed the ragged and dangerous wound that slowly healed while he lay unconscious. Derek stood in the corner of the room near the door, leaned against the wall of rock, staring down at the healing Irishman.

“You would die for him,” the king whispered into the candle lit room. He was just barely aware of Alan standing outside the door. The man was so good at creeping up on him or maybe it was the distraction of another man who loved the one he loved.

“As I understand it, so would you.” He uttered the statement  into the room but the words fell into the cold stone beneath their feet.

“He is certain to survive this?” Derek questioned, his voice gruff and sore sounding as if his vocal chords had suffered overexertion. He narrowed his eyes, focusing on the healing Celt, adamant about avoiding Alan’s all to wise for his own good line of questioning.  Alan raised a brow but proceeded into the room slowly approaching the body of the man. He wasn’t a doctor, per se but he had his talents. He had led the efforts to save the wolf or rather help the wolf naturally save himself and he was certain that Koda would survive. His healing was jumpstarted and assisted and he would soon wake or at the very least, he should soon wake.

Alan lay a palm on the man’s covered leg and peered down at him as if he was trying to uncover something behind the man’s bowed eye lids. “Nothing is ever certain my king,” he started, looking back briefly over his shoulder at Derek who still remained his idea of a safe distance from the Celt. But safe from what, was anyone’s guess. He opened his mouth to rebut; however his old mentor was continuing and turning away as if the king’s impending words didn’t matter. Alan had that way about him, of carrying himself, speaking and behaving as if he was of the oldest royal family. He always seemed to hold such power even when completing mundane tasks. “But this one will awaken, eventually.” He breathed a soft exhale and then turned his body fully.

The man clasped hands behind his back and straightened his shoulders as he narrowed his eyes at his king. His head tilted to a side, “I wonder if you will as well though?” Alan let the soft thought out of his head voiced by a curious tone.

Derek grimaced, “I sincerely doubt the aptness of your riddles at a time like this.”

“Perhaps this is the most relevant time,” Alan countered seriously, not tearing his intense eyes away from the King, of England and so much more.

“Perhaps not,” Derek commanded again, his voice rising in power and sinking in depth, “not when, lives are threatened in my kingdom, so close to me, by a hunter who almost succeeded.” He was almost yelling as he tore his arms from his chest and slammed a closed fist down hard on the wall of rock next to him. His hand felt a warm throb while the wall seemed to vibrate for a few seconds.

“Not when **a** life is threatened, one so close to you it breeds discomfort, and something else.” Alan parried again, hardly phased by the king’s booming voice and supposed anger. His own words were well chosen and Derek’s eyes snapped to him flashing scarlet as though he would be upon the older man rending his bones to dust if he continued.

“Watch yourself Lord Deaton with what you’re getting at,” The rare formal titling, which Derek reserved for when his friends really wound him up had an effect, though it might not have been the desired one, if he were honest he’d know Alan would never back down. Alan simply nodded and turned away as he continued, by now he’d known how simply averting his intense powerful, see-far-too-much eyes he could get the king to receive him better than pinning him with unrelenting truth and challenge.

“My king, an acceptable fantasy is not the same as a proclaimed truth and we, unfortunately, do not get to exist in both worlds.”

There was nothing but silence between them for a moment. Derek’s eyes stopped glowing like living rage. His heartbeat slowed down and he thought. He heard the man’s words repeat itself in his head and he knew exactly what the man was talking about. He had barely stopped speaking in code but Derek couldn’t deny that he had known Alan long enough to ply meaning from most of his words. But what relevance did they hold here?

“Do you think me weak?” Derek asked, softly, his entire tone changing and all at once he was a young prince again, being tutored by one of his father’s best.

“Whose opinion truly matters?” Alan asked genuinely wanting Derek to remember, to again understand.

He had wanted to say _his,_ thinking of his reluctant lover, the one he didn’t want to think about right now, because it made him desperate and longing, fearful and furious, lost but whole at the same time. “Mine first and theirs following,” he recited as he’d remembered being taught many times that he had to determine absolutely what he was and wanted and let that illustrate the world around him. He had to know himself before the people could know him, his people. Lessons of a king he thought.

“Then do you think yourself weak?”

Derek sighed again, running a hand through his long black hair, he was tired and exasperated. “I think I do not know what to do.”

“The answer usually lies in the problem itself.”

“The problem is I love him,” Derek groused finally moving further inside toward Alan. He was angry again but not at the man, he was angry at himself. “I love Prince Stiles, I want him more than anything I have ever truly wanted, more than everything yet I fear such a relationship can never be. Look at this, he was targeted, by a hunter, targeted Alan in my kingdom, I can chop off all the fucking heads I want, the fact remains he is not safe and I don’t know if it is my fault, I think it is I…” his face and his hands fell. Alan turned to him, the king’s eyes were dark, the darkest shade of green, he’d ever seen, so dark they removed any trace of the multicolored flecks that swam in his eyes giving more life to the vibrant green. “He was almost… part of me needs to be with him and another part doesn’t know how to face him.” As he said the words he felt a shocking ripple of energy and knew that if there had been one moment in the history of the world where someone should have been able to go unseen simply by willing it, it was this very moment. He heard two voices answer him one belonging to Allan, the only warning which was no warning at all, “I think you’re about to find out,” and the other Stiles.

“It is true, Koda,” Stiles gasped as he paused at the door, staring in wearily his face unreadable for emotion. Derek turned wide eyed, his capes billowing back behind him to face the prince stepping through the doorway now, looking frail yet strong all at once. Derek’s eyes flared and Alan bowed to the prince before stepping to the side of the king nudging him as he took his place subtly hiding the tug back to reality. Derek was happy to receive it, the shock, awe, pleasure and gut wrenching anxiety of having Stiles here was incredibly possessive.

“What are you doing?” Derek called stepping forward but then stopped himself. He had tried to sound kind but only managed a groused tone. He eyed Scott behind Stiles a hand on the small of his back for support. “I mean, you need to be resting.”

“All due respect your grace I feel I am still capable of deciding how well to do I am to walk about or visit a friend who was hurt on my behalf…” he trailed off, eyes falling on Koda. “If I may your grace to request a moment alone,” Stiles spoke addressing the king but Derek noticed he didn’t even look at him.

“Your grace,” Stiles repeated, now placing the stare of his warm brown eyes on Derek who just then realized he was meant to answer at least several heartbeats ago.

“Oh yes certainly. I shall leave you to it,” he sounded awkward and strained and suddenly, he was very happy to leave that room. Stiles certainly did nothing to help that either. He himself felt awkward and strained, which was most of why he didn’t really leave his eyes lingering on Derek. There was so much going on.

The king moved, Alan following and Scott stepped aside turning his back to the door to give Stiles his space. “Derek,” Stiles called, after taking a deep breath and turning back just as the king was walking through the door. Alan went on without him. Derek jerked around as if startled.

“Yes,”

“Thank you,”

“Whatever for?” Derek asked only half sincere.

“Coming to find me, caring for him,” Stiles gestured to Koda. “Thank you,” he said and jerked as if he wanted to step forward, but then turned around and walked toward Koda.

“I came as soon as I felt something was wrong… I couldn’t possibly…” the words blew off into the ether as he couldn’t find a way to express whatever it was he was trying to say.  It didn’t matter, nothing changed for the moment, Stiles still wouldn’t look at him and what’s more the words Derek did manage to get out seemed to only make the young prince feel cornered, if the evasive expression he tried to conceal was any indication of his mental state.  As Derek walked away reluctantly, he heard soft foreign words in that highland accent of Stiles’. He sighed to himself and stepped out the door closing it behind him. Turning to Alan who stood waiting for him, “I want the head of whoever else had a hand in this. Where is that fucking servant girl the one who delivered the message?”

“We’ve sent men to her home to find her, she was not in the castle kitchens where she works, The cook reported that she has not turned in for her duties and hasn’t been since since yesterday.”

“Find her,” Derek hissed and walked off with Alan keeping in stride.

At the end of the hallway the men parted leaving Derek briskly marching toward his own quarters, mind overwhelmed with the events of the last few hours. The young king was so consumed by warring emotions he felt like he was being ripped apart by a hurricane from within. Rage at the ones responsible for the attack on Stiles, confusion as to  the reasons behind it, Uncontrollable desire for a man he honestly hardly knew and concern for the empire he was pursuing. Those were only the most prominent issues on the surface of his brain, deeper lay the minefield of smaller worries that also plagues his life presently.

When he got to the door of his chambers he was so distressed and drained he could have simply collapsed within the doors. As he pushed them over he wasn’t free to fall apart as he so desperately felt like doing. The princess, his betrothed, was standing just ahead of him facing the large four poster bed, gown flowing eloquently down her body. Her early stage sunset colored hair was propped up high on her head, twining at the apex of her skull in a knotted braid while the short remaining wealth bathed the back of her neck in a soft cascade.

Her head turned, and green eyes pierced him with an underlying pleasure and concern. “My king,” she called as she lowered herself in an elegant curtsy.

“My lady,” he gasped out almost breathless with the surprise of her presence at such an unpleasant time. “I don’t think this is the best…” he began but she was cutting him off with a shaking head. Any other time he might not have brooked this sense of entitlement but he was utterly exhausted and extremely vulnerable. Even if he knew she was trying to handle him he wouldn’t care.

“Please do not shut me out my lord.” She started raising her hands defensively toward him, as if trying to calm a feral beast in the wilds. “If I am to be a partner, and comfort to you, an asset in this joining, you must allow me to be that missing part of your life. I am to be your queen but you must let me be your wife. I am concerned for you, so much is happening and you were in a battle just last eve.” She stepped closer to him, her voice was soft and gentle, like a caress on his skin as she moved toward him slowly. “We may not have spent as much time together as I would have liked since coming here, but I still care for you, you are good and strong and I want to be there for you, Derek,” she called out his name as she finally stood face to face with the king. She settled one of her defensive palms on his cheek and the other on his chest. The hand on his chest moved in slow soothing circles while the other stroked him with a thumb.

“My lady I…” he called but he didn’t know what he was saying, or trying to. His body needed this though and he wasn’t sure he could deny it no matter the source of the comfort, affection and solace. He leaned into her touch, completely dissolving before her.

“You don’t have to speak my darling,” she whispered as she brushed her thumb over his slightly parted lips. “Just be and let me care for you as no one else has.” Her hand on his chest inched its way up to his face and gently, taking his cheeks in her hands, she pulled him to her so she could steal his lips, taking his breath in as he sighed against her lips.

Derek felt numb and alive at the same time. A chaotic contradiction, engulfing him as he gave in to what was happening, letting his body take whatever it required even if it came from the wrong one. His mouth let hers take the lead, and guide him however she desired, taking whatever she needed from him. 

When he moved in response against her, she let her hands slide down his head, neck and arms and settle on his hands to raise them to her body. She placed them at her hips, and slid them over the curve to her waist where she released him to keep hold, as she moved closer so that he could easily slide them back down the rounded curve of her behind. Lydia deepened the kiss then before breaking off to nibble and lick at the flesh of his neck and his earlobes. She could hear the groaning response emanating from his throat. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled backward so that he would follow her easily to his bed. Somewhere he could, even if just for a few moments, forget.

 

*

He could feel it. That was probably why he’d remained agreeably quiet for most of the venture. When he’d accepted he couldn’t smell anything past his own upper lip he realized he was gravitating. As they walked he was being pulled ever so subtly in one specific direction and that, and that alone left him a strange peace of mind that he had not thought possible. He knew where he was going even if he didn’t know where to, it was to Stiles. The destination for his mind, body, soul or combination of the lot was all Stiles. The variables of whether he intellectually versus emotionally understood and accepted whatever truths either his body or mind were experiencing were trivial.

It was Koda who moved first and his action was surprising if not a bit daunting for all the personal, emotional reasons Derek refused to analyze at the moment. The man before him transformed completely, even under the constraint of the aconite poisoning they had all suffered. Derek didn’t have the time to feel envious of the man’s immense strength or ponder at his insecurity’s concerning the measure of his and Koda’s love for Stiles. He felt a tremendous tugging sensation along the energy thread of connection he was following toward Stiles. He broke off in a high speed chase behind the giant wolf which was, in this form, too fast to stay neck in neck with. But even Derek was an immense speed incomparable to normal men or wolfkind. He didn’t look back to know he and Koda had left Scott, Deucalion and Daniel behind them following at a decreased pace to their own.

Once they had broken through the tree line it was a break neck speed run for a short distance to the cave entrance where Derek was just taking in what was happening. Koda had gotten there first and had not hesitated to clamp down his giant jaws on the body of the offending hunter, to quickly protect Stiles who was on the floor in a crumpled mess. His leg was gruesomely bound to a wolf trap and covered in blood that pooled down to the ground staining it a darker black than it was in the faded light of the sunset

There was an agonizing roar as Derek witnessed a blade slicing through the large wolf’s back. He was already moving, unsheathing his sword which didn’t sing from the sheer speed of the action. He launched himself in the air holding his arms in tightly as he griped the blade with both hands. He tilted himself sending his body into a rapid spin with the blade held horizontally outward. As he landed on a twist he released one hand and let his swinging arm bring the blade across and through the neck of the collapsed hunter, so that the head a ribbon of scarlet formed around it like a colored crease. Derek kicked the man’s head and it went flying several feet from his body. “Stiles!” he roared eyes still glowing a challenging bloody red.

 

*

Derek raised his head abruptly, as much as he’d wanted to forget the things that happened, he couldn’t and his work wasn’t yet done. And whatever the weight of his distress he found he wouldn’t completely lose himself in this woman. For all her beauty and breeding, all her kindness and promise of stability he couldn’t be overwhelmed by her the way he was so unequivocally enraptured in the Scottish prince. He pulled back, pulled himself off of her and rose to his feet.

Lydia’s face was flushed with confusion and embarrassment at her failed attempt at seduction. All the more dangerous as they were not yet married and he could just as easily view her wanton behavior as a sign that she had carnal knowledge. “Your grace,” she gasped in question.

“I cannot,” he cut her off and stood on his own two feet quickly shoving at his shirt to get it back in his britches where she’d tugged it loose and began pulling his britches down. “The prince has been attacked and nothing is safe,” he breathed, I must sort this immediately.” He wouldn’t look at her as he scrambled to get free and out of the room where he had been so easily ambushed. Derek pushed through the doors still stuffing shirt in britches and righting his attire when he looked up and noticed the Scottish prince staring at him unceremoniously, the look in his eye a dying light that fell silent, his lips slightly parted as if he were gasping or finding it hard to breathe and then he was turning and walking off down the corridor. Derek was stunned, he didn’t move for a long time, and then he turned down the nearest corridor and walked away.

*

“You convinced me he would be triumphant in this, you promised this would work. The king is neither moved toward me nor has he lost interest in his little prince. Thanks to this monumental failure I could lose everything, _we_ could lose everything,” She expressed darkly.” Lydia was seated in a deep and comfortable birchwood chair draped and fastened in fine, colored silks. Peter regarded her with cold humor.

He stood before her in her presence chamber, alone, guards and ladies sent elsewhere to give them a moment of private discussion. Something most might be curious about under normal circumstances but with the talk of the kingdom, being Derek’s predisposition to the happiness of his newest prisoner of war, they were unusually safe meeting in private. “Your grace, I invite you to maintain your calm. It is unfortunate that the hunter failed, however this may prove advantageous even now. It is tensed between them now…”

‘It is tense throughout this kingdom, he will not stop until the accomplices are heads on the pikes at the tower…” she trailed off suggestively. What she would not say out loud is that they were the accomplices and it was their heads Derek was searching for unbeknownst to him.

“Calm yourself Lady Martin, I have dealt with the loose ends which means nothing comes back to the source. You are safe, but you must beguile the king, now is your time, I worry your only time.” Peter tried to persuade her in a kind tone but Lydia knew what he was now, some part of her, a big, good part regretted listening to him in the first place.

“What do you mean, dealt with the loose ends?” She queued horror birthing in her mind.

“The only one who can identify you in this plot, I have had her removed, no one will find her or hear any confessions she might have been forced to provide. With no tongues left to wag you are safe.” She noticed how he kept referring to her alone as if he had had no part in the attack on the prince.

“It sounds to me, my lord as though you have removed yourself from our private alliance,” she suggested in a soft thoughtful tone.

‘Not hardly, your grace, I am simply practicing my detachment from this situation, should one constantly behave as though he is not a part of something who is to say that he was…” He smiled cruelly and Lydia thought of the kitchen maid.

“She is surely dead then?” she asked but she knew it was certain before he nodded his head. Lydia sighed as she shook her head. “This changes nothing, he is still devoted, he shan’t turn away from the prince, not by my hand, for I have tried, to try any harder is to suggest that I am not pure and classed and highborn. To try any harder is to give a king cause to doubt my eligibility. I cannot try any harder,” she whispered exhausted with the lies and deceit and blood on her hands, when had  she ever had blood on her hands. She couldn’t say that she was especially kind and appreciative of the lowborn but she knew she had never disrespected them outright either. Had never trampled on their lives or used them as if they were disposable, until now. What would Jackson think of her if he knew what she had done, what she was capable of. 


End file.
